


Man In The Middle

by tb_ll57



Series: The Year Without Trowa [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Physical Disability, Post-Endless Waltz, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tb_ll57/pseuds/tb_ll57
Summary: "He gave you this home. His home. I think he meant you to live in it.” He hopes Quatre will agree, if only for long enough to find some peace, some closure. “If you can handle it."





	Man In The Middle

_Zechs Merquise attended in full dress uniform, like Wufei and Heero. Relena wore the latest Sanqian fashion, cream and gold chasing each other over her frock coat and sashes of office. Duo wore the long linen tunic and trousers like the Arab men, all donated by Quatre, so that he was only identifiable by his loud laugh penetrating the noise of the crowd. Trowa was an eyesore in a black suit, a leftover from the last funeral he’d attended. No-one commented on it._

_Quatre looked a little trapped during all the ceremonies, but maybe that was just the huge audience. It all seemed to go on for days. There were cots in a separate tent for people overwhelmed by the heat or in desperate need of a nap between events. The food alone was a battle only for the hardy; everyone ate too much, and still there was more on the tables. The bride fainted trying to get up after the feast and was whisked away to a cool room in the nearby Winner estate. He had a panic of his own, then, when he looked around for Trowa, and saw him going into Quatre’s dressing area. But it was too late to stop it, and he got no more than five steps anyway before Duo interrupted him, appearing suddenly with a flute of champagne offered in one hand._

_“I said we’d help haul in the gifts,” he said. “There’s a mountain of them.”_

_Two of the sisters drifted into his view of the curtains Trowa had just ducked through. He stared, but he couldn’t see anything._

_“You all right, Heero?” Duo asked. He touched the back of his hand to Heero’s cheek. “If you’re too hot, I’ll take you to lie down.”_

_“I’m all right,” he said, and swallowed down his misgivings. “The gifts?”_

 

**

 

Heero arrives three months to the day from the funeral.

Quatre’s estate stands out from everything else on L4, even the other massive mansions of the filthy rich. It’s made of red sandstone from foundation to gable, a massive four-storied thing with colonnades in front and wide windows faced with graceful reflective solar panels. There’s even a yard, a rarity in the colonies, though it’s only a small patch of green lined with slim hazel trees. It’s all perched on the L4 River, prime real estate for one of the founding families of the colony. It’s not a thing like Quatre at all, really.

He rings the bell. There’s no immediate answer, no security jumping out of the bushes, no sound of the ringer even. He waits long enough to wonder about cameras. He sees the glint off a lense under a painted eave over his shoulder. Crime rate is low on L4, but even so, it’s a thin defence. He smoothes his hair with a hand and exhales through his nose.

One of the twins answers the door. The girl. She’s wearing cotton flower panties and a candy necklace, and nothing else. She chews her finger as she stares up at him.

"Hello." His face feels hot. "Is your father here?"

There's ten seconds of absolute silence, unblinking silence. Then she turns her head and shrieks, "DADDY!"

Heero flinches.

Quatre appears almost before the scream dies off. There’s a pink party dress draped over his arm and he’s scrubbing the fabric with a sponge. “Sweetums, come away from the door,” he says, before he looks above knee-height and sees Heero standing there. He blinks in almost comical disbelief, but then his face lights up in a warm smile. "God,” he says. “Come in. Heero! Hello. Come in!"

"Hi.” His toe hesitates at threshold. “If this is a bad time—“ The little girl is still staring at him.

Quatre makes to embrace him, but remembers the dress. He bends down and wrestles the girl into it, zips it up with a flick of the wrist. "Go back in, honey," he tells her, and sends her off with a gentle swat to the bottom. She obeys, and this time he does embrace Heero, a tight warm hug. Close enough to feel Heero’s heart speed momentarily. The adrenaline rush is his own private hell. "Come in," he repeats, and pulls Heero into the foyer.

Foyer. It’s a hallway, complete with marble columns in the mirror image of the portico, and antique rosewood furniture that had probably come on the original ship when the colony opened, and a pile of shoes on the edge of the huge Eastern rug. The rollerblades he once sent for a Christmas he missed. They look used, and he’s pleased by that. “You skate much?” he asks.

“I go to the park every morning.” Quatre’s hand lingers on his shoulder. “Well, I try. Here, I’ll take your coat. How are you?”

He sheds his jacket into Quatre’s hands. "Fine. How have you been?"

"I'm good." It’s glibly spoken. Up close, Quatre’s bright smile looks inwardly braced, as if he’s been asked a few too many times. "And you? What's brought you here? A bit out of your way." His thumb leaves a chocolate stain on Heero’s shirt, and they notice it simultaneously. "Oh, shit,” he says. “Sorry." He makes Heero face him while he wipes it with the sponge. "Playdate. It's crazy."

He can feel the wet seeping through his shirt where Quatre is working on it. "I can come back," he tries, in an awkward mumble.

"No, Amir's mom is here too, she's watching things for the moment.” Quatre gives up. “Come sit down. Coffee? Juice?" He starts them walking up the hall toward the study. "You look good. I like the suit. New?"

"Thanks." He opens his wallet and takes out the letter. It’s picked up extra creases since he got it, but it smoothes out in his palm. It’s not entirely necessary to demonstrate its existence, but he wants Quatre to see it, to know he’s not insane. Quatre is looking at it curiously, pausing just to open the door to a modern study, a pleasantly worn room with a couch and a desk and paper dripping off of every surface. “I got this—“

“Sit down,” Quatre says, and he does. Quatre leans on the desk with his arms crossed.

“I got this,” Heero repeats. "After the funeral. I don't know if he meant you to read it, though." That when Quatre reaches for it. "He said you'd need looking after. Asked me to give it a month or three, then come check on you."

Quatre goes white and bloodless. He swallows convulsively, and breathes in like he’s just remembered how. “What—what are you talking about?”

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Quatre doesn’t answer. His colour never improves, but he stabs out a hand onto the desk and comes up with reading glasses. “Give me the letter.” He holds out his hand insistently. “Heero, give me the letter.”

Heero obeys. The edge of the paper slices the webbing of his thumb when Quatre pulls it from his fingers.

Quatre’s face is frozen as he reads it. It’s not long. Trowa, like Heero, had always preferred economy of speech, and the letter is characteristically direct. Trowa had known he was dying and he’d wanted everything that was his nailed down and taken care of, and in Trowa’s world that had always started and ended with Quatre, whether Quatre was there or not.

He’ll crawl back into his protective little shell with his kids and his house and all that crap he surrounds himself with to convince himself he doesn’t need anything more. Please go and remind him that he does. For me. I need to know he’s okay, and he’s always liked you, loved you just that little bit more than the others. I can leave him with you and know that he’ll be okay. I can leave him if I know he’s okay.

“I never used to get it,” he says. His voice drops into the void of Quatre’s numb silence. He rubs the thin line of red papercut. It’s barely bleeding. “How you and he could feel so much for each other. The enormity of it. The only thing I ever felt that much about was the war. An idea.”

He’s not sure Quatre even hears him. Quatre reads for far longer than it ought to take. Heero slips into silence, himself.

It seems a long time later when Quatre folds the letter back into its thirds. He holds it out until Heero takes it, and puts it back in his wallet.

"So, here I am."

"Here you are." Quatre takes off the glasses. He cleans the lenses with an edge of his shirt, then sets them aside.

"I'm not Trowa," Heero says.

"Manifestly." Quatre rises. There’s a refrigerator hidden by a false cabinet door in the bookcase. He brings back two glass bottles of sparkling water, one for each of them.

"Thanks." The bottle’s cold, sweating immediately in the warm L4 air. "I've-- got a few weeks free. I never spent much time in this cluster."

"I have plenty of spare room." Quatre twists the gold cap from the bottle and sips the water. He hasn’t met Heero’s eyes since reading the letter.

"Might make your kids feel weird. If I stayed."

"Trust me, my kids are not that observant." He sips again, and caps the bottle. "They start school in two weeks anyway."

"You want me to stay?"

"My house is always open." It's not quite an answer to that specific question, but it's offered urbanely. "Do you have luggage? If not, I can loan you some casual clothes. You don't want to wear your nice suit around a group of six year olds."

He doubts Quatre even owns casual clothes. He’s never seen him in jeans. Even if Quatre has them, Heero wouldn’t fit. He’s always been broader in the shoulders and hips, though Quatre has length in the legs on him now. "Did you need help? Herding kids?"

Quatre glances at him, and finally smiles. “If you'd rather rest, you don't have to come out. They’re going home at five."

"I just have the one bag.” Still in the foyer, if no-one’s touched it. He thinks he remembers servants, or hearing about servants, but there aren’t any in evidence. “If you show me where to go change, I think I can handle a few kids."

The smile stays, small but real. "Well, there's no obligation to stay, if it gets overwhelming. Where'd you park? You can come up to the garage."

“I took the tram from the shuttle port.”

"Brave." Quatre turns in a half-circle that loses its purpose by the end. He hesitates. "Ah, any of the rooms on this side of the hall, or you can just put your stuff in my room, end of the hall. I should get back to the kids. We're out back at the pool. Just-- come out when you're ready."

 

**

 

_“When the fuck did you get this little third-grader crush on Quatty?” Duo demanded. “And I wanna know why the fuck he's so special, aside from being all, you know, blond and sweet and cute and shit. You know what, shut up and go away."_

_Heero’s answer was to punch Duo in the shoulder. Hard._

_"Uh, ow? You seriously beat on a cripple?"_

_“No, I seriously beat on an ass." He pushed Duo into the kitchen, away from the others watching the film in the den. “Tell him and I'll kill you."_

_"I'm not going to tell him." Duo rubbed his arm sullenly. "I might tell him you've got an abusive streak."_

_"Just leave it alone. Duo, promise me."_

_Duo got a new six-pack from the refrigerator, and opened a can for himself. Finally his expression shifted into sympathy. A small bit. "So it's serious?" he asked, and his voice was lower finally, too._

_It didn’t prevent Heero glancing back. Trowa was in there, not just Quatre. He said, "He's married."_

_"Which is also serious, but not necessarily related to what's going on here." He tapped Heero on the breastbone._

_"I'm no more going to break up that family than Trowa would."_

_"You keep talking and I'm going to return that punch in the face." Duo was no longer sympathetic. "I don't know what happened to all of us, that everyone is so damn afraid to be emotionally honest."_

_"He has the life he wanted. It makes him happy.” He had to grit his teeth even to get it out. “And I don't have anything worth enough to offset what he'd be risking.” Duo pushed a can at him, and Heero gripped it tight enough for the aluminium to protest. "He's my friend. Okay?"_

_"Yeah,” Duo said. “Enjoy second-best. We all seem to think we deserve it."_

_"When you tell Wufei you love him, I'll tell Quatre."_

_"Fine." Duo swallowed the last of his beer, and tossed the can to the recycling. He turned toward the den._

_"Duo—“_

_"I'm not really going to do it, you mook."_

_"I know. I'm sorry. I was out of line." Mook. He didn’t even know what that was._

_Duo leaned down and held Heero in place for a firm kiss to the crown of his head. "I'm going to go home, beat off, and think about how much I hate life some times. See ya later."_

_There was not one possible thing he could think of to say to that._

 

**

 

He isn’t comfortable choosing a room even with Quatre’s permission. The door Quatre had pointed to as his own is closed, but it opens when he depresses the latch. It’s smaller than he expects, obviously not the master suite. The bed is facing the window, not beneath it, and it makes everything feel subtly off-kilter. Heero puts his little bag on the bureau and takes out fresh clothes, khaki trousers and a light summer jumper. There’s nothing in the room that even looks like Quatre, he thinks, except suits hanging in the open closet and a framed picture of the children as babies. It could be a hotel room for all the personality it has.

The Winner home is undeniably a mansion, but it’s not quite as big as it looks from the outside. Heero loses his way only once, concentrating more on the furnishings than his path— everything is so obviously finely made, all of it pre-Colony, priceless antiques. Heero’s world has always been steel and practicality, functionality, moulded plastics. There’s a richness of texture here that seems to explain things about Quatre that Heero has never understood. And yet it doesn’t look like a place where Quatre has lived all his life. It looks like a place impervious to change.

The shrieks from the lawn in back finally draw him out wide French doors. A group of adults stand in the shade of the porch awning, and a dozen or so children rule the rest of the yard, shrieking with high-pitched laughter as they chase each other around a large plastic blow-up pool. Heero’s appearance gathers no attention at all.

Except from Quatre, who is not at all relaxed, but sees him immediately and gestures him over. Heero tries to relax the frozen scowl he can feel on his face.

"Jenel,” Quatre says, “this is an old friend, Heero Yuy. Heero, Jenel. She's got those two--" He points to two of the youngest children splashing in the pool. "And you remember my sisters, Chandra and Hiba."

Jenel shakes his hand when he offers it. The sisters affect not to notice his arm extended. Quatre very nearly manages to whisk Heero away to the other side of the porch before it becomes obvious they’ve snubbed him. He’s used to having to do it, whenever his friends visit him. His family have never welcomed outsiders.

"We've got juice, which all of them can drink, soda, which anyone younger than seven doesn't touch, those are sugar-free, this is all soy-based...” Quatre touches everything on the well-stocked food table. “You can eat anything on the right, that's adult-food... "

Heero clears his throat. "What if I want one of those?" There are clown cupcakes, garishly orange and frosted white, with candy eyes and bright red noses. Quatre promptly scoops one from its tray and presents it to Heero as grandly as any maitre d’ offering the bar’s finest cognac. Heero finds a smile for his antics. "I’m kidding. That stuff'll kill you."

"You're telling me." Quatre licks his fingers of the icing. “We’re grilling burgers and sausages later. Horrible custom. Everything is turkey or vegetarian.”

"I'll try not to scare anyone."

"Mira's already half in love." Heero turns to look. The girl half of the twins, standing stock-still in the chaos of the other children, her finger in her mouth as she stares at Heero. "Buck teeth!" Quatre yells, and she turns and runs.

Before he can think much of that, a knot of ferociously screaming boys careens onto the deck and heads straight for the food. One misjudges the distance, and ricochets off Heero’s knees. Heero catches him by an elbow before he falls, and finds the muzzle of a gun in his face.

Not a gun— a water pistol. His heart had seized, but in the instant he recognises the weapon for a toy it resumes its normal beat. He still has to tell his hand to relax from the holster at his hip under his jumper.

"Who're you?"

"Yuy,” he says, and lets the boy go. “Who're you?"

Quatre is there again, having settled an argument about the soda. He grabs the little blond with the water pistol and hugs him loosely to his knees. "This is Jared,” he tells Heero, and there’s a moment of sympathy in Quatre’s eyes that says he didn’t miss that nearly disastrous slip. The bottom of Heero’s stomach drops out like the instant of liftoff in the shuttle launch. He wishes he’d even thought to leave his gun back in the bedroom, but he never takes it off except to sleep; it never even occurred to him that he shouldn’t wear it to a child’s party.

“Jared,” Quatre is saying, “that's Uncle Yuy. He used to hold you when you were a baby, and if you're not nice, he'll tell all your friends that. Be polite."

Another embarrassment. Heero hadn’t even recognised it was Quatre’s kid, the boy half of the twins. He hasn’t seen them in—perhaps not since he had used to hold them as infants. He has to clear his throat again, and says, "He can call me Heero."

The grin Jared shines at him is pure mischief, and not the least apologetic. He snaps up the water pistol and douses Heero’s shirt.

Quatre hands him a towel with a sigh. All the children are gone as if summoned away by some silent signal, recongregating at the plastic pool. "He's in a rebellious phase,” Quatre says. “It should only last until he's twenty-five or so."

“Quatre!” Hiba calls imperiously. “Jenel’s asking about our call options. Come answer her questions, dear.”

"It's just water.” He mops his front clumsily. He hasn’t come out well so far, and he’s beginning to wish he hadn’t come at all. “Go... take care of the women."

"You sure? Just don't let the kids rail-road you. Call for help."

"I'll be fine. Really."

"Famous last words," Quatre says ominously, and departs.

He manages not to scare or kill anyone, but what he doesn’t manage is talking to Quatre again. There always seems to be something that calls Quatre away before they can exchange any personal words. The two sisters linger as long as they can, monopolising Quatre’s attention, but even after they’ve gone Quatre has to supervise the deflating of the pool, bathing the twins, babysitting them through a viewing of an animated film before they finally fall asleep well after eight. By then, Heero has an inkling that all that might be deliberate. Even after they twins are put to bed, though, he makes Heero trail him around the nursery while he picks up toys and mess.

"You have a nice family," Heero tries, with unaccustomed tentativeness. If the nursery has had this kind of cleaning nightly, it doesn’t show. Heero crouches to collect a large pile of plastic blocks into their bucket. They’re dusty.

"Thank you," Quatre answers. He drops an armful of ragged-haired dolls into the largest toy chest, and flops backward onto the kids' daybed. He doesn’t move, and Heero thinks his eyes close a moment later. Perhaps they’ve finished with the dissembling, now.

So Heero slides into a seat at the foot of the bed, near Quatre’s legs. He says, "I don't have to stay if this makes you feel weird."

There’s a minute of awkward silence, and he almost thinks Quatre will ask him to go. But then Quatre sighs. He says, "I'm living with the ghost of a relationship with a man I abandoned. Weird doesn't even touch it, Heero."

"You could tell me."

The daybed creaks as Quatre sits up. He slumps forward with his elbows on his knees. "Not tonight,” he mumbles. “Please."

"Sure." He’s not a person who’s ever had the instinct for the right moment of comfort, the right action to take to heal. But he tries. Quatre’s leg is warm under his palm, and he pats it clumsily. Quatre’s hand slips down to press his fingers gently. It’s awkward, as well, the angle, not quite in line to see Quatre’s eyes, his face for his reaction, and he drops his head instead. He says, "When I got the letter I thought… he was sending me to you because you'd help me handle it."

"Handle what?"

"Him being gone."

Quatre exhales. "Come up here. I can't think, staring at the top of your head."

He does. The sky blue duvet rasps against his khakis as he slides up for a secure seat. Quatre’s hand rests between them, and he thinks about taking it, the way he remembers Quatre taking his when they watched the coffin lower into the dirt three months ago. “I didn't have a lot of friends. Lately." Ever, but he didn't mean to be accusatory.

Quatre listens— he always listens. It’s one of his best qualities, the one they all take too much advantage of. But none of them know much about talking, really, and it’s a gift, having someone who takes whatever words they can come up with. "There's no trick,” Quatre says. “For dealing with it."

"I know.” Quatre is looking at him, eye to eye, waiting for more. But what more is there? Nothing that brings Trowa back, except in painful memory. There are so many things he would like to tell Quatre, so many he doesn’t know where to start.

When the silence breaks three minutes, Quatre squeezes his hand, and says, "Coffee."

The back patio is nicer without the children and the mothers. A beautiful bamboo screen is only a clever front for a kitchenette and bar; half the furniture in this house seems to be disguising other furniture. Quatre boils coffee for them as Heero wanders from potted plant to potted plant, surprised at the variety of Earth flora. It occurs to him, rather late, that Quatre was the only man at the party, the only father. “Where’s Marina?” he asks.

Quatre hands him a fragile porcelain cup and gestures him to sit on one of the low lawn chairs. “She remarried,” he says. “Last month, actually.”

He remembers now that Duo told him that, and he wishes he’d remembered sooner. “Are you all right about it?”

“You know, yes.” Quatre smiles briefly. All his smiles are brief these days. “Philip is more her style than I ever was. They’re settling on L1. There’s more society for her there, more night-life. Less Winner family making demands on her time.”

He knows Quatre means his sisters and his aunts and uncles, but what about their children together? Heero is wise enough to his own conversational failures not to ask that, but the pause is only slightly less excruciating.

"Where are you living right now?" Quatre asks him.

"I haven't had a permanent place in two years." His first sip of the coffee surprises him, not pleasantly. He’s forgot what colony coffee tastes like. "There are hotels wherever the job is."

"Hotels." Quatre curls one leg under him so he can sit facing Heero, though the chairs are meant to face the river that’s only visible by the widely spaced lamps. That’s another thing he’s forgot, based so long on Earth; being in a colony feels too much like being in a closed room, even when you can’t see the ceiling; and on L4, at least the inner ring, you can, miles of solar panels marching off in a sloping line overhead, like living inside a giant tube.

“Seen Duo lately?"

"I was there before here." He manages another sip of the coffee. "He's spending a lot of time at Wufei's."

"Mm." Quatre pillows his head on his arm. There’s a way Quatre has of looking at people that’s different from how any human being does it. He listens with two senses, and if you know him, you know which one is speaking loudest. Tonight, Heero thinks, it is not his ears. Quatre says, "I thought you would get another partner, after he was pulled from active duty."

"I never wanted another partner."

"You don't find it lonely?" He’s sceptical.

"I'm used to doing things on my own."

“That isn't what I asked."

"I never thought about it."

“Don't lie to me.” There’s something unexpectedly hard and curt in Quatre’s tone. “You walked into my home today and I opened my life to you. Don't lie to me."

“I—“ There’s no starscape on L4, so he stares at the solar panels overhead, knowing something’s out there, somewhere. He was born a colonial, as far as he knows, but it’s not in his gut anymore, not his first set of expectations, not what he wanted when he wanted— comfort, and familiarity. Quatre’s waiting for him to answer.

"I get tired of being alone," he says slowly. "But I'm not-- good with people."

"You're very good with them." Quatre relents, and sits back like Heero, to gaze up at the panels. "You just don't trust your own reactions."

"I don't know what that means."

"Hand you any weapon, and inside of a minute you'll know how to shoot it, clean it, take it apart. Hand you a six year old girl and you freeze up. Granted you shouldn't take a child apart, there's no reason not to apply the same skill set."

"I don't have a great history with little girls."

It’s Quatre who freezes, then. There would be satisfaction in that, if it wasn’t about what it was about.

"I'm sorry.” It’s real remorse. It’s always real remorse, with Quatre. “I ought to have remembered."

"It was a long time ago. Things are different now."

"I can keep Mira away from you, if you want. Olivia's back from camp in two days. She'll run interference for you."

"I like your kids, Quatre." That was, God, a sincere offer. Heero doesn’t know if it’s gratifying Quatre would put an old war partner before his own children, or if that was panic talking. He changes the subject quickly. "You have a good life here. I don’t think I’ve ever really been in your house."

“You always missed the gathers, I think.” Quatre is the Quatre he remembers now, hesitating over the right words. "Are you tired? I don't mean to keep you up, caffeine aside."

"I'm not tired. Are you?"

"Not particularly. Do you want to walk?"

"I didn't mean to disrupt your life coming here."

Quatre licks his lips. Heero happens to look right as he does it, and quickly looks away again. "I know it wasn't your intent,” Quatre says. “Heero... Such things happen. Are maybe meant to happen." Abruptly he swings his legs to the ground and stands. He taps Heero’s hand briskly. "Come on. Take a walk with me."

That's a relief.

Talking and walking were difficult to master together, in Heero’s experience, and it’s not long before they fall quiet between them and just walk. They stay on the grounds of Quatre’s estate, but it’s a very large place, almost embarrassingly vast in a place where physical space is always at a premium. The grass is the thick, springy breed designed especially for the colonies, and the air smells particularly fresh and clean here, if not entirely natural. Quatre takes to playing tour guide, offering tidbits of history in fits and starts. A great-great-great-something designed the estate, and meant to have the entire ring for the Winner clan, until an ambitious grandchild began selling off the acres for extortionate prices in the second wave of colonisation. Once it was cutting edge of technology, and now it’s practically obsolete, but the grandeur isn’t quite gone yet, and there’s some lingering affection in the way Quatre talks about certain things, the garden that was planted a century ago, the path to the river that his nanny walked him along every day, the mosque that was built to line up exactly with the house from across the river, before it was burned in the protests during the war. There are a lot of things that remind him of the war, or maybe it’s just the mood that Heero’s visits always seem to summon, as if they don’t have any shared memories but the pieces left from the age ago when they were fifteen. Heero doesn’t mind it; the others don’t like to talk about it, and sometimes he likes the insights he gets from Quatre. Sometimes it feels like the rest of them just grew old, and Quatre is the only one who grew up.

“Of course, it’s an absolute disaster for young children,” Quatre says. They’ve made a full circuit around the house, and Quatre sits down on the front steps as if it’s entirely natural, as if there’s not yards and yards of ancient marble to either side and those huge Roman columns spiking up at their backs. “I was always afraid to touch anything. Did I ever tell you I almost fell out of the third floor balcony? And just last week the twins utterly destroyed the carpet in one of the guest rooms. I hope not the one you picked.”

“No,” he says honestly. “Did your sisters ever fight you for the house?”

“They wouldn’t go against our father’s will.” Quatre’s finger is in his mouth, and he looks so much like his daughter for a second doing it. Then he clasps his hands between his knees. "I've been... thinking about moving. It's too large for the four of us. I don't want the kind of family my father had. And one break with tradition... it seems to warrant another. Maybe many."

"Where would you go?"

Slowly, Quatre says, "He left me his house."

"Trowa did?"

He nods.

That’s a minefield. He wants to do the smart thing and stand absolutely still until he can get a map of it, but there is no map. "Will the kids mind leaving?" he asks finally, the safest thing he can think to say.

"Olivia's old enough to feel connected here. Her family are here. I think the twins would miss it for a while, but they're young. In a year they'll forget they ever lived anywhere else."

"It's a lot different down there. Be a big change for them." Enormous change. Those children have never even seen rainfall, and Seattle is nothing but rain for half the year. "I can help you get settled."

"I haven't decided yet."

"There's no hurry."

"I'm..." He exhales. "It's such a tangle. His home. But it ought to have been Wufei's. And maybe he doesn't want it, but that lingers. Moving to Earth, it's such a trial... I don't know. I don't know what to do."

Heero touches Quatre's arm, the forearm, just above his wrist. "You don't have to decide anything now."

"It's been all I can think about."

"Yeah." Quatre is tense and not receptive to his silent entreaty. "You afraid of ghosts? There, in his house?"

"Ghosts. Memories."

"You loved each other there."

"Never there." He sounds strangled. His face has that set cast that speaks of massive effort at self-control. He’s not breathing now.

"He loved you there." His hand slides lower without his conscious direction. Hovering over Quatre’s; then grasping. There’s a long moment where Quatre is passive to it. Then his wrist turns, and he grips Heero’s fingers tightly.

"We could go for a few days,” Heero says quietly. “Take the kids. See how it feels."

"Is this part of your obligation to him?" Quatre’s grip tightens spasmodically.

"I'm not doing this for him. He's gone."

Quatre faces him so abruptly that their knees knock. "Should I do it? Is it fair to everyone else?"

Meaning Wufei? Or his family? And Heero doesn’t know the answer to either.

“Heero, please. He sent you here. Please help me.”

"You're far away here in the colonies.” It’s a lame answer, it’s not an answer at all. “We'd all have more time with you there."

Quatre seizes on it, though, in the dearth of anything else. "Do any of you even want that?"

"We all do. You're part of us." He wants it, personally. They’d already been scattered across the Sphere when he began to realise he missed them, wanted them, that there would never be a sense of belonging anywhere else. They’d struggled to come back together, reluctant to be so openly in need. Duo had said, Fuck it, and demanded they all move where he was, and Trowa had laughed for the first time in years and obeyed, and Wufei too; and Heero had been so—grateful. But Quatre had never come, and they’d all known he wouldn’t, but it still lingered, that sense of—lopsidedness.

"I left.” Quatre’s eyelashes swoop down, white-gold in the porch light. “I chose to leave."

"You could choose to come back."

Quatre has never been afraid of his vulnerabilities. Heero struggles to understand that, how anyone could so easily embrace their own weaknesses, but Quatre makes it look like a strength, a point of honour. Every uncertainty is visible on his face, every jumbled thought and fear and worry; all the grief. And even though Heero wondered if Trowa sent him to Quatre because he knew how Heero felt, he’s not entirely sure, now that he’s right here looking at Quatre, if Trowa understood how Quatre really felt. There’s so much guilt, and so much hurt, too much for one person to hold inside, and too much for Heero to fix, even if he knew how.

The next thing he knows, the moment, the chance to do something, is gone. Quatre’s hand disappears back into his lap, and he turns away from Heero, a profile of a closed and weary stranger.

"I'd like to spend some time with you.” It wins him back Quatre’s eyes, though his body stays turned away, trying to shut him out. “Not just because of the letter. I know you think that's the only reason I'm here, but it's not. It was just... the catalyst."

"I would like it too." Quatre rubs his mouth. "I've missed you."

That surprises him. It always does.

"You didn't come to Duo’s Christmas last year."

"I was working." The excuse leaves his mouth too quickly, and Quatre’s eyebrows arch.

“I just meant that I'm glad to see you now,” Quatre says, a shade more formally. “We usually only get you once a year."

"I intend to do better."

There's not a lot to add to that. That unhappy silence falls again, not at all companionable or easy. Quatre breaks it like he’s grasping at a life raft.

"Well, I'll help you pick a room, if you haven't already. You came a long way. A good sleep won't hurt."

"I'm tired. Yeah." Quatre stands, and so does Heero, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Quatre goes up two of the wide steps before an intense wave of—he doesn’t know, except that it feels a bit like desperation, like if he lets Quatre make it up the last two steps something horrible will happen, or something that should happen will never happen at all. He says, too sharply, “Wait!”

Quatre’s head snaps around. "Okay," he answers, confused, and comes back to Heero’s level.

It's an impulse. A crazy, reckless act that's wholly unlike him and completely uncontrollable. He just suddenly needs to take the chance he's been resisting for a decade, and this is it, the chance that Trowa gave him. He’s careful not to touch anything but lips; that would be pushing it. Lips slightly parted. It's almost not even a kiss, so much as a whisper of a touch and a taste. Emotionally it's scary, and delicious. Quatre's lips are warm and soft, faintly moist. It feels good. It jolts Heero to the bones.

Quatre looks shocked. It’s only in the eyes, a roiling confusion, a question, but Heero knows he’s shocked because he doesn’t move away even when Heero rocks back on his heels. Heero swallows. "You made me feel welcome," he says, by way of explaining. And it's true, even if it’s not why he kissed Quatre.

Quatre licks his lips, then covers them his hand. "You are welcome."

"You've always made me feel that way."

That sparks a little understanding, at last. Quatre lowers his hand, clasps both together in front of him. "You always were."

 

**

 

_He was in the hospital to interview a wounded perp. One he had wounded. He was exhausted, and Duo had already passed out in the lobby waiting for him. It was complete coincidence that he got bad directions for the nurse on the way to the small cafeteria, and walked past the nursery instead of the OR._

_The tapping on the glass caught his attention before he looked in, and then he felt a jolt of surprise. It was Quatre, wearing an apricot-coloured gown and hair mask, and he was holding a baby._

_God. Heero felt a jolt. Marina had had the baby. He hadn’t even remembered it was close._

_The nursery was dim, lit only by a few lights for the bilirubin babies and a small light at the nurse's desk. Quatre sat in a rocking chair when Heero entered, struggling into one of the papery gowns. Quatre stood to greet him with a kiss to the cheek._

_"Sit,” Heero chided him. “Shh. You'll wake her." He crouched by Quatre’s chair to look at the baby, swaddled loosely in a pale pink blanket. "Boy, she sure is... wrinkled."_

_Quatre chuckled. “We named her Olivia. After Marina’s mother. Here, hold her."_

_He had a second of sheer panic. But Quatre was already telling him not to be silly and passed the baby right into his unsteady hands. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to hold her, but Quatre showed him how to support the infant’s head. She was so tiny, so fragile. Her head barely filled his palm, and he was shocked at how warm she was, like a little furnace. Her face was sweet, wet pink lips pursed as her father gave her up, but her brow stayed smooth in sleep._

_"I've held a dozen babies, you know,” Quatre said. “Nieces and nephews and cousins. But it's nothing to holding my own."_

_"What's it feel like?"_

_"Instant perfect love."_

_Her little cheek looked chubby, but felt unbelievably soft under his fingertip. There was velvety, feathery fuzz on her head, black as Heero’s own hair. No eyebrows at all. “But do you know, I think she looks like you."_

_“Isn't it funny?"_

_"A little. Yeah." He looked up in time to see Quatre go flopping back into his chair. "Are you sure you don't want her?"_

_"To be honest, my arms are half dead. I haven't put her down since they gave her to me hours ago." His face turned luminous in a sudden goofy grin. "I'm a father."_

_"Lifetime commitment." There was a plush sofa nearby. Heero sat carefully. Olivia Winner squirmed just slightly, and sighed. "Are you scared?"_

_"I was, right through the procedure. Then I was holding her, and it was like it all... " Quatre made a vague gesture. "It evaporated. They tell me it will come back the first time she cries and I can't figure out if it's for food or pee."_

_She even smelled different than regular-sized people. Fresh soap, and something indefinable. Heero said, "You're the most courageous man I've ever known."_

_"Oh, don't." Quatre’s eyes were dropping when Heero glanced up. Heero said, "I'm serious."_

_"I always wanted children. This is everything. This is the best day of my life." Quatre rested his head on his fist. "Maybe if I'd had to give birth I wouldn't feel quite so good. Poor Marina."_

_"How'd she do?"_

_"She wouldn't even let me in the room until they'd brought her a brush and her makeup." His eyes closed, and it was a visible struggle for him to open them again. "I'm so glad you came. But how did you know? I didn't even call anyone. I was going to wait until morning."_

_"I was in the area.” He settled Olivia against his chest the way Quatre had been holding her. A tiny hand escaped the blanket, and he stared down at her fingers, barely larger than his own fingernails. “Do you want me to make the calls?"_

_"That would be wonderful." This time when his eyes closed, they didn’t open again. "Remember to tell him her name."_

_Him. There was only ever one ‘him’ in Quatre’s life. But Quatre had fallen asleep._

 

**

 

Mira is staring at him.

She’s been staring for days, every time she sees him. He tries to ignore it, and Quatre tries to distract her. The next day, there she is, staring at him.

The car brings them to a rear entrance at the shuttle port, a bare concrete tunnel from a secure garage. The vice president of the port authority and a team of security greets them for the hustle up service lifts and back halls. The security forms a mobile wall between them and the ordinary masses when they finally pass the doors into the main port. There’s approximately two seconds of calm; and then paparazzi converge on them like a horde of locusts.

At least, they give a good impression of it. There’s only fifteen or twenty of them, plus a few cameramen and photographers, but they’re all shouting Quatre’s name and the kids’ names, and even Heero’s name, when one of them recognises him. There’s flashes at frantic intervals and one fore-sighted crew brought a mobile spotlight to chase them with. Quatre ignores all of it as if happily deaf, but the twins watch it all with wide eyes, and Mira slips her hand into his— he’s closest, and Quatre is carrying Jared.

A red rope line goes up ten yards from what the VP calls the Gold Lounge, which is really just a set of chairs plusher than in the regular waiting lounge and closer to the window. Everyone in the port is staring at them as they sit. Quatre’s ass is barely in the seat before he’s standing again, asking one of the security if they can find juice for the children while they wait.

Heero helps Mira climb onto one of the chairs with her stuffed dolphin toy clutched to her chest. All the children look so very proper, the way he remembers Quatre always looking, buttoned-up and pressed and starched. The twins are wearing some kind of matching suit, except that Mira cried until Quatre let her wear her bright pink Mary Janes. “What kind of juice do you want?” he asks her.

“Grape.”

“Apple,” Quatre tells the security. “Olivia, sweetheart, do you know which bag has the nausea pills?”

Mira tugs Heero’s sleeve, and he eases into the chair next to her. “What's on your mind?"

"Your eyes are funny shaped," she says promptly.

“Mira!" Quatre snaps.

"I'm Japanese," Heero answers her.

"What's Japanese?"

"From Earth, stupid!" Jared interrupts. Quatre catches the boy’s shoe just as Jared starts to throw it. His expression tells tales of extended suffering.

Olivia finds the pills just as the security comes back with a tray of juice. She’s a beautiful girl, a mix of her parents’ best features; Quatre’s round face and earnestness and maturity, her mother’s dark eyes and thick brown hair. She acts like a mother, more than he ever saw Marina do, for all she’s only ten. The twins come when she calls them, and soon it’s miraculously quiet as they take their pills and drink their juice for her.

Quatre flops back into the chair next to Heero with a disgusted sigh. "Tell me again why I never hired a nanny."

"Because you wanted to do this yourself. You're right to."

"Wouldn't want to miss this for the world," Quatre mutters sarcastically.

"They're lucky."

Quatre glances at Heero with a little smile. Then tells the kids, loudly, "Uncle Heero says you're all very lucky!"

"Yes, Daddy," all three chorus impertinently.

Heero grins at the well-rehearsed response. "See, I'm right."

"I'll give you the twins for a hot breakfast right now."

It finally registers that Quatre’s complaints aren’t all part of the show of family and fatherhood that’s been running all morning. He’s been amused by it, because it’s got no teeth and they both know it, and the jokes are more rueful than serious. But this has a brittle edge to it. "You need some time away?" he asks.

Yes. And no. He doesn’t need to read the ambivalence on Quatre’s face to know the answer. The edge isn’t about the kids at all; it’s about where they’re going. Trowa’s house may be empty, but it’s still Trowa’s house. The kids won’t understand, and there might not be a way to really explain the significance of it. Heero’s been thinking about it, too. They knew Trowa, better than they know Heero. And they’re old enough—well, Olivia is old enough—to understand death. But understanding that their father had a life before them might be too much to hope.

Quatre is spared a reply by the announcement that they're ready to board first class. Which they, being Quatre Raberba Winner et al, are. Quatre’s on his feet before the audicom signs off, scooping a giggling six-year-old under each arm. The paparazzi are on their feet, too, jostling for a shot of the most important man on L4 walking to the gate with his children. The security team follows with their luggage before Heero’s halfway to his feet. Olivia scrambles to grab the stuffed dolphin, forgotten on the floor. She glances up to Heero, and her eyes skitter away from his shyly.

In a way she reminds him sharply of Relena at fifteen, the way she was when he first met her. He wasn’t smart enough then to reach out to a girl who just needed a friend; he is now, though. He steps next to her, and offers her his arm cocked at a gentlemanly angle. "We should catch up," he says gravely.

Olivia flushes the same dusky rose as her blazer. The paparazzi have noticed them lingering back, and start calling her name. “Come on, pretty!” one yells, loud enough to draw stares from the other passengers where they’re queuing up. “Give us a wave!”

Heero’s been around Quatre enough to know that scowling and threats only egg them on, so he doesn’t do either now, just steps between the girl and them. "They can't know you just from a photograph."

"It doesn't stop them from trying." Olivia keeps her face forward by sheer dint of effort. "Dad says to just ignore them."

"It's hard. Hard not to feel hunted.” There’s something else she’s inherited from Quatre, and he recognises it with sudden sympathy. She’s too young to worry so much, and it will only age her prematurely, the way it did Quatre. At least Olivia won’t have to make a choice between her family and a war. But he wonders if Quatre knows about the choices she’s already making, trying so hard to be brave for her father, to be helpful and grown-up. He presses her small hand into the crook of his elbow and squeezes her fingers. “I'll keep you safe," he promises softly.

They walk silently to the gate. The photographers capture every moment of it, but they don’t call her name again, not with Heero giving them a frozen stare. Olivia walks with her head high.

Quatre’s waiting for them at the gate. He smiles softly at Heero. Thank you, he mouths.

There's a big fuss, once they’re boarded, secure in the first class cabin from the passage of the others on the flight. The twins want to strap themselves in for launch, but that’s no sooner accomplished than one wants a pillow and the other a blanket, and both want their electronic games out of the luggage, or dollies out of backpacks. There are promises of more juice, especially grape, after launch, and one emergency trip to a bathroom that has to be accomplished at the risk of delaying liftoff. Boarding is nearly over by the time the children are settled and occupied, and the adults can finally be seated. Heero rather marvels at all the unexpected effort. No wonder Quatre is exhausted.

"I'm going to have you fully trained at parenthood before we land," Quatre says to him. Olivia is anxiously reading the flight disaster brochure, her lips moving over the big words. Quatre’s reading it, too, an unconscious mirror of his daughter, and Heero finds himself smiling.

“Uncle Heero, can I have a blanket too?” Jared asks. Quatre shushes him and climbs to his feet, but Heero waves him off.

"I don't mind," he says. There’s blankets in the overhead bins for them, too, and he covers Quatre’s legs with one before taking his seat.

"You don't have to," Quatre says again. He's been saying it every time Heero helps. "Just tell them to wait for me."

"Why is this so hard for you?"

"What hard?"

"Accepting my friendship."

That apparently catches Quatre off-guard. His eyes slide away from Heero’s. He fumbles his reading glasses back into place, and occupies himself with the safety booklet.

That wasn’t quite the effect he’d meant to have. Heero takes a magazine from the flap on the seat in front of him and spends the launch pretending to read it.

It's a long flight back to Earth from the L4 cluster, with extra hours added on for the trip to North America. The kids get bored with being weightless after the first hour, being accustomed to travelling in Space, and soon they’re quietly involved with their games and the in-flight film. When the flight crew lower the lights when they pass through a night zone coming in over the atmosphere, they drop off one by one to sleep.

They’ve entered Earth Space when Quatre climbs over him to check on the kids, testing safety belts and being sure of all the luggage. He lingers in the aisle, stretching his legs and rifling the bags for no reason Heero can figure. Heero has long since given up the pretence with the magazine, having no desire to purchase expensive liquors duty-free, and no need for robotic dogs or new camping equipment. He watches Quatre, trying not to be obvious about it. Sometimes he has trouble remembering what his friends look like in the present; in his head they’re still teenagers, small for their age and old before their time. Quatre looks so tired. Stretched too thin. A little hollow and fragile, but beautiful for all that. No, more handsome than beautiful now, more than he was at fifteen. It suits him. Even the fine lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes. Time's been kind to Quatre, chiseling away the deceptive softness of boyhood to make his strength more apparent.

"I'm sorry,” Quatre says suddenly. He’s been staring back at Heero, and Heero blinks abruptly to break the tension of it. “I didn't mean to reject your goodwill."

"It's okay,” Heero answers honestly. “You can relax."

But Quatre’s serious, and intense, in an odd way, uncomfortable. "Their mother never wanted to be part of their lives. I've always-- do you understand? I have to be both parents for them. And it's exhausting--" He lowers his voice with a glance at them. "But it's still mine. My children. It's not easy to let go of everything little thing. I guess I get... jealous of it, sometimes. When my friends, my very willing and kind friends, try to help."

There’s more in that than Heero can entirely understand, and he knows it. He says, "I'll be more careful."

"No, Heero, it's not you who has to be anything."

"I'm telling you I get it, Quatre.” He doesn’t, especially Quatre’s insistence on this point. “I'm not here because I want to make things harder for you."

"You're not." It’s quietly forceful, an explosion in miniature. Embarrassment follows swiftly. Quatre leans on the overhead bins and looks anywhere but at Heero. "I swear,” he says. “I did know how to relax, once upon a time."

That, Heero thinks, is what Duo would call a load of cow patties. "Life can beat that out of you. Come sit down. You're tired."

Quatre eases back into his seat. It’s been a while since any crew passed through with drinks, and their glasses are down to ice melt. That’s gone, too, in a swallow, and Quatre holds the glass in his lap and traces the rim with his thumb.

"Tell me about your recent jobs?" he says.

Heero’s face feels hot in a rush from the collar up. Quatre had never quite got around to asking that earlier, and Heero had been in no hurry to broach the subject. "I resigned two weeks ago. They didn't make a fuss about that."

Quatre touches his hand. "Heero!"

He doesn't turn his hand to Quatre’s, though wants to, and his palm tingles at the thought of it. “It didn't feel right any more."

Quatre’s expression is all consternation and dismay in the dim overheads. "Were you even going to tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. It was time.” It’s a door best closed. Maybe a door that should never have been opened. He says, “I'm ready to leave that kind of life behind."

"Just Wufei left, then," is Quatre’s response, a thoughtful minute later.

"Duo, too. Just desk duty, but I think he’s got a talent for it.” Part of him is lost about it, not sure what comes next. But most of of him feels liberated. Relieved. Even the unknown of it is freeing.

Finally Quatre exhales sharply. "Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't leave years ago. I was always surprised you joined to begin with."

He’s unsurprised to find Quatre thinking the same thoughts. "I couldn't think what else to do,” he says. “You were gone, the rest of them went in. Trowa said we'd do it until it stopped being fun. Guess he was right."

"He always did get to the heart of the matter."

Heero smiles. "Yeah."

"Have you thought about what you'll do now?"

"A little bit."

"Anything to share?"

"I thought about writing a book, but most of the things I know about are classified. So that's shot." Quatre’s grin is uncertain, and Heero doesn’t enlighten him. "I have some money saved. I have a little time to think it through."

"You'll stay with me. As long as you like."

"I didn't come because I'm down and out, Quatre. I just don't know what comes next yet," he admits.

"You're not living in some rat-infested hotel while you figure it out, either."

The offer pleases him, though. And he is getting better with the children. “Then thank you. I’d be happy to spend some time with you and your family."

“Daddy.” It’s Jared. They both start, sheepishly exchanging glances; it’s not a good showing that a six-year-old got the drop on them. Jared’s freed himself from his chair and stands with puffy, sleepy eyes next to their row. Heero and Quatre deftly change seats, and Quatre acquires a boy on his lap, wrapped in a blanket and still clutching a game pad.

“Is it bad?” Quatre asks. “I think I prefer him this way.”

 

**

 

They have a welcoming committee when they land— or Duo, anyway. He meets them at the port with balloons and a sign, and two bags full of gifts for the kids. He is, of course, a big hit with the children.

“Of course he is,” Quatre says dryly. “He's their mental age.” Duo sticks his tongue out, and the twins, who have apparently never encountered this expression before, immediately join in.

“You look good,” Heero tells Duo.

“You look unresolved.” They’re waiting for the rental car to come around. The port here is blessedly closed to reporters, thanks to stricter security laws. Duo is rapidly tapping his own keys against his thigh.

"Oh, no you don't, Maxwell," Quatre says tartly. “The car’s here. I’ll be right back.”

“Did I do anything?” Duo says. “I don’t think I did anything. Did I miss myself doing something?”

“Tone it down.” The children are occupied with their new toys, and Quatre is signing paperwork at the desk for the car. Quietly, Heero says, “Maybe you can take the kids for a day.”

"And if I agree to take the kids, do you promise me there will be porn music and mattress bouncing?"

"He's tired, Duo. And not ready.” He lowers his voice even more. “I just want to give him a day."

Duo is reluctantly sympathetic. "Yeah, I can do it. There's zoos and shit."

"And shit." Quatre gets the keys at the desk, and gestures them to follow him out to the kerb. "Thank you."

"Sure. They're not still wearing nappies or anything?"

Heero scowls. "They're not babies any more."

"What do I know about childcare? I'm just pulling your leg. Give me a credit card and we'll be out of your hair."

Heero pulls out his wallet and peels off a few bills. Duo’s hand stays outstretched.

"That gets me through lunch, tops."

"Don't be an ass."

"Who's doing who a favour? I'm totally skint right now." Heero hands him three more tens. It’s a generous total. Duo folds the whole smartly in half and pockets it. “I'll bring your change,” he says brightly. “Wanna drive back with me or the family?”

He hasn’t been to Trowa’s house since the day of the wake. Duo and Wufei had taken a week to clear it out, but by then Heero had had a new assignment off-planet. It had all been done and over when he’d returned. It’s strange that it should look the same now as it did before Trowa died. When he was sick, they’d all traded turns staying with him, taking care of him. The first round of chemo had almost killed him. When he’d decided he was dying and didn’t want the meds any more, he’d banished all of them, and that had been it, just don’t come back til I’m dead. There’s no telling any of that from the house now, except for the blank windows and the soggy leaves clogged in the gutters. The paint on the porch is peeling, but four months ago they sat there together, Heero and Trowa, with a burger and a six pack. He’d confided that he meant to quit, and they had talked for hours about it, about how fucked in the head Une could be and things like that, shared tales they already knew by heart, until the mosquitoes drove them inside. He’d helped Trowa change for bed, and that had been it. The last time he saw Trowa. The only one who’d had a good-bye had been Quatre—the only one who hadn’t known Trowa was sick, until Wufei broke a promise.

It looks deceptively like a family holiday, three noisy children well-rested from the flight, the pile of luggage that seems larger here than it did when they were packing it two days ago. Duo has the keys and lets them in, and somehow it works out that Quatre is the last person through the door. Heero, who went in after Olivia, turns to watch him.

“I called the water and electric and everything is on and working,” Duo says. “All right, everyone under thirty pay attention. You don’t care about a boring old house. Uncle Duo’s going to take you out.”

The twins are suddenly bouncing balls of energy. “Really?” Jared demands. “Daddy?”

“Really,” Heero says, getting in ahead of Quatre, who looks ready to protest. “Everyone get their coats and walking shoes. It’s winter here on Earth.”

“Last one to the car has to ride in the trunk,” Duo adds, and produces instant chaos.

Quatre watches the exodus with great misgiving, though he makes no effort to stop it aside from ensuring the twins take their bags out of the foyer. Duo waves a breezy farewell, and that easily, Heero’s plan has succeeded. They’re alone. Quatre followed them as far as the front windows, and he’s staring out at the driveway in bemusement.

Heero joins him, and summons Quatre out of his thoughts by touching his elbow. "Don't worry,” he offers. “They'll take care of Duo."

Quatre smiles a bit at the joke. "That's what I'm afraid of. I'll pay you back, anyway."

He shakes his head. "I've got it covered."

It takes about five minutes of no-child-silence for Quatre to realise he’s in Trowa’s house, and there’s no escape, with the children gone.

Heero was waiting for it, though. "Want to go somewhere?" he asks. There are plenty of little tasks that could occupy at least their morning. They’ll need groceries, for one.

"The point was to come here, wasn't it?" Quatre steps away, and they both look down at the sound of a crunch. There’s glass in the carpet under the windows.

“I wonder what broke,” Heero says. “I’ll hoover it. Before the kids get back.”

Quatre is pale when he looks again. He manages a reasonably dignified nod of agreement. “The whole place probably needs to be aired out, if it’s not too cold.”

“I think Duo took care of that too.” It’s bare of the things he remembers, no pictures on the walls, no curtains in that odd green Trowa liked. But there are plates and cups in the cupboards Quatre opens, and all the furniture is where it used to be.

“That was decent of him.”

"Why don't you start with a nap?"

He catches Quatre about to check his mobile phone. Quatre hesitates visibly; but he sets the phone on the kitchen table where either of them could answer it. "It feels lopsided," he says abruptly.

"What does?"

"Four of us."

It does. Probably it always will.

For a second, just a second, Quatre’s on the verge of tears. Heero sees it too late to do more than take an ineffectual step toward him, but Quatre’s already recovered himself. He says evenly, "I think I will nap, if you don't mind. I should have slept on the shuttle."

"Yeah.” He wants to touch Quatre, wishes he could embrace him in the easy way Duo had at the port. He isn’t Duo, though. He says, “Go on. We've got the whole day."

Quatre nods, and slips past Heero toward the bedrooms. He hesitates there, just for a moment; and then he goes into the master bed, Trowa’s room. He closes the door behind him.

It’s not the first time he’s wondered if Trowa made a mistake, sending him to Quatre. It sure as hell looks like a mistake now that they’re here.

He falls asleep on the couch trying not to think about everything that can go wrong.

 

**

 

_He was sleeping deeply, for once. The phone didn’t wake him until the fourth ring._

_He didn’t drop the receiver or fling it across the room, though he wanted to. He crammed it to his ear and reached for the base to see what the digital clock said. "Yuy," he growled._

"It's Quatre. I'm sorry-- shit. I didn't see the time. Sorry. Bye."

_"Wait. I'm awake." He sat up and turned on his light. Three in the morning. Probably just late evening for Quatre. He cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"_

"Oh, yeah." _Except he didn’t sound like it. "_ I called because I need someone besides myself to pity me. I'd probably have done better calling during the day on Earth, huh."

_"You might have missed me. I work days." Quatre sounded shaky. Heero wasn’t sure if he wanted to turn on the video, though it was moot. The handset in the bedroom had none. "What's going on?"_

"I'm getting divorced."

_He was shocked. "Wait, what? What happened?"_

"Everything depressingly usual. We've been fighting for a week without a nice word to share, and I suppose it finally snapped."

_"Ah, hell. I'm sorry."_

"I can't even tell you if I'm relieved or heart-broken." _There was a trembly exhale against Heero’s ear._ "Heero, what the hell is wrong with me?"

_"Wrong with you?" He scratched his head, and rubbed his eyes clear of sand. "Nothing's wrong with you. You've been good to her."_

"I've resented her in my life and lately I haven't been shy about sharing that. Who would want to be married to that?"

_He felt so out of his depth. "I can't believe you stopped trying. No matter what you say."_

"She said... she said we made it thirteen years together, and that was something worth the record books. Me and my bloody family, living in the dark ages like religious fanatics in tents in the desert."

_"You were doing what you thought was the right thing."_

_Quatre was silent for a long time. Heero couldn’t think of anything to say. There was just the occasional sound of breathing._

_"Maybe I could get a few days off,” Heero offered finally. “Come to L4."_

_That got an immediate response, and almost overwhelming gratitude._ "Could you?"

_"Yeah. Sure. I never take my vacations."_

"I'm so sorry. But-- please. That would help so much."

_"It's no problem, Quatre. How soon should I come?"_

“Whenever's easiest for you."

_"I can be there tomorrow night." His head was whirling, thinking through the necessary arrangements. He could call in sick days more easily than vacation time, without any notice. He could call for a flight as soon as Quatre hung up. Had to let Duo know. Unless Duo already did know. Duo would be better at him than this. Or Trowa. The thought made him a little ill. Had Quatre called anyone else? Would he really have called only Heero?_

"Thank you. Thank you, Heero."

_"It's okay,” he said. “Just... relax. Okay?"_

"I can always count on you." _So quiet, just Quatre’s voice against his ear. Heero’s heart thudded painfully._

_"I hope so,” he managed. “I try."_

"I know you do. I hope some day I can be there for you, like this."

_"You always have been."_

_There was an awkward pause, then._ "I'll let you get back to sleep. Thank you, Heero."

_"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"_

_Of course, when he got there, Marina pitched a horrible screaming fit, and Heero ended out spending a week in the Savoy instead of Quatre’s house, but in a sick, humiliating sort of way, he was always glad that Quatre had turned to him, and only him, when he most needed a friend._

 

**

 

The frenetic buzzing of his mobile phone wakes him with a start.

It’s Duo. He says, _"How's it going?"_

"He's taking a nap.” He’s never been one to be groggy when waked, but it still takes a moment to remember everything, like who Duo is or why Duo would be bothering him. “Thanks for this."

_"Yeah. You both look like crap, by the way."_

"Gee, thanks.” A swipe of his hand clears sand from his eyes, and he sits up. It’s well into the afternoon. The sun is bright, still, but the house is freezing. He gets up to check the thermostat. “How are the kids?"

_“Hellions. It would make me proud, if it weren't my shift. They'll be exhausted by tonight, is the plan, though."_

"Good. That'd be good."

_"Can I just say, for the record, that I think it's nuts anyone expects him to live in that house?"_

It’s too soon to say that for sure, but Heero instinctively agrees. He’s not sure he could live here either, if he were Quatre, in a place full of a lifetime of wasted opportunities. But then, Quatre’s always been a little stronger than the rest of them. "He'll sell it when he's ready, I guess."

_"I should have 'accidentally' burned it to the ground."_

"He just needs a little time to say good-bye,” Heero says. He nudges the temperature up until the heat engages. “There's nothing wrong with that."

_"No, it just sucks he has to."_

"Yeah."

There’s a short pause on Duo’s end. Heero can hear a lot of noise in the background, high-pitched voices, and then a distinct animal roar. He really did take the kids to the zoo. _"Right,”_ Duo says. _“Well, I'm gonna go."_

"Thanks for calling. Have fun."

_"Yeah. You too."_

"Right. Later then." Heero hangs up before Duo can tell him to go get laid.

Quatre stays locked away two hours longer than he did. He hears movement in the bedroom in time to start the kettle for tea. Water runs in the bathroom, and Quatre finally emerges, hair mashed flat on one side of his head, his face freshly washed and damp.

"Did you sleep?" Heero asks.

Quatre’s eyes are a little puffy and he looks sleepy. "I think so." He adds a second mug to the one on the counter without asking Heero if he plans to drink. "You? Well, obviously. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No. I only wanted to sleep a little." He’d not really remembered that Quatre had been in Trowa’s house before, at least for the wake, so he’s surprised at the easy way Quatre finds everything in the kitchen. The empty pantry had confounded him, too, but he’d found a box of non-perishables next to the refrigerator. Heero lifts it to the counter for Quatre to look through, and points out the small tin of chai tea. “Smells good,” he says.

"It is good. I used to send it to him for holidays.” Quatre takes the tin, popping the lid to sniff the bags. He takes out two. “It’s all still in here. He never drank a drop of it."

"He mostly drank coffee. Or beer."

"I know. I mean, I knew. But he always told me--" He sighs, rubs the back of his neck. "Always told me he liked it."

Heero hunches a shoulder uncomfortably. "He fed it to Wufei sometimes.”

"I don't know whether to be crushed or amused."

"I'd go with amused." The bags go into the mugs, and Heero pours steaming water for them both. "Are you okay?"

Quatre’s face is angled down at the tea string wrapped around his finger, steeping the bag in rhythmic dunks. "I'm trying very hard to be."

"Hard being here." It’s not really a question; it’s an obvious answer. But sometimes Quatre needs prodding.

There’s a tense movement of the mouth that was, Heero thinks, supposed to be a smile. Quatre opens the refrigerator and finds milk there— Duo had done quite a bit to ready the house for them, including shopping for a few necessities. There was soap and toilet paper in the bathrooms, too. "I keep thinking—“ Quatre sips. “This is crazy."

"Which part?"

"The part with all of it." Quatre sits, and so does Heero, careful not to scrape the chair legs on the tile. "I wasn't his partner," Quatre says.

"He was glad. Glad you didn't enter the Preventers. It wasn't the right life for you."

Quatre glances up. He licks his lips, and finally smiles, a real smile. "I meant-- partner. Lover."

The tea is too hot, but he sips it anyway, to hide his embarrassment. "Why weren't you?" he asks then.

"I don't know. The reasons-- The reasons were awful. They were crap. I think about the life I could have had with him and I feel sick. I feel so sick." Quatre’s hand trembles and he flattens it on the table. "And I'm actually sitting here contemplating moving into the house that he left me when he was dying. That's pretty sickening, too."

"Maybe you shouldn't. If it's too loaded." Quatre’s elbows are on the table. He can touch Quatre’s elbow, covered securely with a sleeve, his hands folded away in the centre of the table. It’s sharp under his fingers, under the wool of his jumper, a bony sharp corner fitting to his palm.

"What would you do?" Quatre asks him suddenly.

"He gave you this home. His home. I think he meant you to live in it.” He hopes Quatre will agree, if only for long enough to find some peace, some closure. “If you can handle it."

Quatre gives off an explosive sigh. "That's the question." He drains his tea in quick swallows, and pushes the empty mug away. "Well, we have a free day. What should we do with it?"

He wants to keep holding Quatre, but the excuse is gone, now that Quatre’s pulled himself together again. He makes fists against his thighs. "We could go for a drive."

"That sounds nice. Duo took the rental with the kid seats, but he left his."

Heero makes a face, just to see Quatre smile again. "That car's a piece of shit. It'll be an adventure."

"It's Duo's. I wouldn't expect anything else."

Quatre reaches for his mobile, and frowns. "He hasn't rung yet. I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one."

"Duo's good with kids. Your kids like him."

"Because he spoils them rotten and teaches them fart jokes." He presses buttons on the mobile to check messages, but his eyes never move to read anything. "There's a beach nearby here."

"There’s a dozen." But a second later it’s clear which one Quatre means. No-one but Quatre’s really sure what went on, the last two days of Trowa’s life. Wufei was the one who found where they went, because no-one had known that, either, just that when they’d gone looking, Trowa’s house had been empty. He does touch Quatre again, cups his elbow and waits for Quatre to look at him. "Are you sure?"

"Not in the least," Quatre says.

Duo’s keys are on the table. Heero brushes them closer to Quatre. "You should bring a coat."

"Oh. I don't know if I packed any." He sees the moment it happens, when Quatre loses the idea of revisiting those days with Trowa and crashes into the reality of details. "I completely forgot the season. Oh, God-- did the kids have coats on?"

"Yeah, Quatre. They did." He hesitates. "You could wear one of his."

He’d give anything to take that back, if it would mean he doesn’t have to see that look on Quatre’s face.

“Mine,” he says, a beat too late, with his heart thudding like a dull hammer. “Or maybe just a heavier…”

"Uh--" Quatre unfreezes like a rusting mobile suit, one joint at a time. "Mind if we-- see a movie, maybe? Stay indoors."

"We can do anything you want.”

He looks helplessly at Heero. "What the hell am I doing?" he begs in a whisper.

"You're figuring it out." It's heart-wrenching. He hates himself a little for bringing Quatre here. Quatre was doing fine on his own, in his normal life. Heero could have put that letter away and let Quatre sell the house and purge Trowa slowly until the pain was gone. Bringing him here was a cruelty he shouldn't have commited. Heero stands, and pulls Quatre out of his chair too.

"We'll just go slow," Heero murmurs. “I’ll help.”

"One foot in front of the other." He feels the brush of Quatre’s fingers at his waist as Quatre’s cheek rests against his neck for a moment. "Movie, okay? Then some food."

"Yeah." He curls his hand about Quatre’s skull and squeezes lightly. Quatre steps away, but not far, and for just a moment, they’re eye to eye. Quatre’s are closed. And just like Heero saw him start to collapse, he sees Quatre rebuilding himself, a deep breath from the gut, reaching deep to centre himself, until the hard press of his lips eases.

"It's okay," Quatre says, and it is.

 

**

 

"Duo still hasn't called." Quatre picks up his mobile from the table, but doesn’t open it. "Do you think they're okay?"

Duo shopped for them, which means there’s cereal and toaster tarts and a ribeye steak. They ate a light meal, though it was too early by Seattle time; Quatre was off-schedule and Heero wasn’t any better. They’d attempted to watch a video, but Quatre was antsy with so little to do. By the end of the movie, his mind was clearly elsewhere; Heero was the one to turn the television off.

"Call him and see," he says now.

"Then I'm the overly anxious parent who-- fine." Quatre dials. Heero gets up to was their dishes, but the sound of Duo’s voice, loud enough for Heero to hear even from the other room, draws him back to listen.

 _"What?”_ Duo demands. _“Why the hell are you calling?"_ And then also Jared yelling, _"HELL IS A BAD WORD!"_

Quatre looks skyward. He says, "I just want to know--"

 _"I'm hanging up,”_ Duo interrupts. _“I'm covering dinner and I'm hanging up. See you, like, eight or nine. Nine."_

"They have an eight o'clock bedtime."

 _"Nine. They're on holiday. Seeya."_ He doesn’t want for an answer before hanging up. Heero knows from Quatre’s slight flinch.

“Typical," he says. "They really will be okay."

"He's swearing in front of my kids."

"You never have?"

"All the time,” Quatre says. He closes the phone with a snap. “But I'm allowed."

"Swearing is swearing, no matter who's doing it."

If Duo’s good to his word, they still have a good four hours before they’ll have company again. Movies were an obvious bust, but he’s not sure how else to keep Quatre occupied. Or if he even ought to. He asked Duo to take the children because he wanted Quatre unoccupied, after all. If Quatre drank, he would suggest that, but he doesn’t want to suggest tea this late at night as substitute. "So what's next?" he asks.

"If Duo were sitting here, the question would be, 'wanna fuck?'"

Heero goes red from his collar to his hairline in a heartbeat.

"I'm not asking-- I'm not-- I'm not saying that that's what I would say to you," Quatre says awkwardly. "Wow. Sorry. Open mouth and insert foot."

"I'm not used to—“ He goes back to the sink just for the chance to turn his back on the den. “I am, from Duo. I just didn't expect it from you."

"I was attempting a joke. Obviously I missed the mark. I was never all that funny anyway." Quatre’s followed him.

"It was funny. I'm just humour-impaired." Another Duo-ism. A safer one. Quatre dutifully smiles. “Sorry,” Heero says. “I stink at this."

"I'm not making it very easy."

He turns the faucet off and sets their plates upside down on the cutting board to dry. "Maybe we should go for a walk outside."

"That,” Quatre agrees, “is brilliant."

They manage to get Quatre into Heero’s spare jacket without further incident. It’s late enough to be cooling off, though it won’t be really cold until the sun goes down. Heero’s having some strange thoughts—well, memories. Sometimes he thinks too much about how things were when they were younger, but that’s only because, for Heero, that’s when everything started. He’d spent his whole childhood working, training just to get to Earth, expecting the whole time that he would never make it back to Space again. He likes remembering how Duo was the first person to make him laugh, or how after he had joined Preventers Wufei had avoided him for months until Trowa joined, too, and Trowa had fixed things between them so patiently. When he thinks of Quatre, he thinks of when they were fifteen, and of the time they were on that beach together, when they thought Trowa was dead and the war was over anyway. He remembers Quatre playing with those huge dogs, and Quatre looking to him for wisdom and guidance he wasn’t sure he had, and he remembers how at night, Quatre had reached across their cots in the dark tent and held Heero’s hand for hours.

Quatre at thirty-seven is a completely different creature. Some of the things that are different he misses, like Quatre’s earnestness, and the way he always did what he thought was right, whether or not anyone else approved. For Quatre’s sake, he misses that brief period where Quatre was blindingly happy, in love with the whole world as witness. But not everything in the exchange is a loss. Quatre at fifteen would never have walked along with his hands in his pockets, like he does now. And he’s confident in a way now that he never used to be, confident in himself, in his path, in his choices. This Quatre never walks with his head down.

“You’re thinking very hard,” Quatre observes.

They’ve gone a block. It’s a nice neighbourhood; there’s lots of trees, big shade trees, and a view of the city down the hill. Trowa chose well.

Heero puts his own hands in his pockets. It’s chilly enough to warrant it. He says, “I was thinking about how we’ve all changed.”

Quatre considers that as they turn right, a decision that happens in tandem and without discussion. “Since we were fifteen?” Quatre asks.

“Last Christmas. It's like you've made some decisions since then."

"You missed last Christmas," Quatre reminds him. "I was getting divorced the last time you saw me."

Heero takes a deep breath of the cold winter air. It’s so different from the recycled oxygen in the colonies. It brings its own clarity. "Okay, so is that where the change came? The divorce."

"I don't know. I'm not sure what the change is."

“It's good on you."

Quatre smiles a little. “Is it weird that I wish Marina were here to hear you call her dead weight?"

Heero can smile for that too. "I'd say it's pretty healthy."

Quatre lets out an ungentlemanly snort. "That wasn't ever a word we could use about our marriage, anyway."

"Healthier now that it's over." There’s a wooden swing on the porch of one house, and lawn elves there. It’s an unbelievably normal place. Not a damn thing like Quatre’s estate on L4. "Why did you choose her?"

"I don't know anymore." Quatre bends to pick up a fallen leaf, bright orange. He twirls it by the stem between thumb and forefinger. "I thought she looked like a wife. Pretty. Put-together. And she seemed to understand what she was getting into. I didn't want a... You know what these old families are like. Some of the girls act like they were made to be incubators. Some of them were made to be incubators. I thought-- I want a wife. I want a friend. At the very least, I want someone who knows why we're doing this."

In other words, Trowa. If Trowa had had a uterus and a business, they might have been able to have a life together.

"What did she want?" he asks.

"Someone smart enough not to embarrass her, and smart enough to give her space." Quatre whimsically presents Heero with the leaf. Heero smiles as he takes it. It is a nice leaf, well-formed and broader than his hand. "I don't think I like her very much, but do you know, we get along now,” Quatre continues. “I think we might finally be what we thought we were getting in the marriage. Finally answering what the other person needed."

"That's something. You share children."

"Yes." Quatre’s hands go back into his pockets. He tosses his head. "I never slept with her."

Heero is dumfounded. "You—you have three children."

Quatre looks at him sideways. "That never stopped anyone with the money and the need."

Of course. Quatre’s got two dozen sisters. But that doesn’t answer-- "Why?"

"My father was married to my mother for less than a year before she died. As far as I know, as far as anything I've ever learned about him, he was faithful to her until he died. I was married to Marina for thirteen years and I never stepped out of that vow. And she says she didn't, and I think I believe her. And sometimes I'm proud of what we made out of the lives we were given, and sometimes I look at all of it, and I think-- all of us, we live these stunted, awful lives, and we call what we have a home, a relationship, and I think-- was it Space that did that? Or did we come up here with these wretched ideas? Who the hell thought human beings could live these kinds of lives? And I know what Trowa thought of it and maybe a year ago I would have said he wasn't right, but he was. He was right all along, and he's dead and I can't even tell him I finally figured it out."

Quatre thinks too much. He always did. Not that he doesn't have a lot to brood about, but he's making himself feel smaller than he deserves. Than any of them do. “I don’t think my life is that bad,” Heero says. "If you think yours is, all you can do is change. Live your life the way you should have all along.”

"Too late."

"You're still a young man.” He doesn’t like this bitterness in Quatre. “Your life isn't over."

"It's not just a house. It's a life. Lifestyle. Our life. And I think he meant me to come down here with the kids or without them, I don't know, come back here and tell the world, I'm gay, fuck all of you. Accept me."

It’s just as well that the street is deserted. Quatre’s voice has risen, and his hands are out, waving emphatically. Heero wishes there were somewhere to sit down, now that they’re really getting somewhere with this, because it feels like they’ve been doing a lot of walking and talking, this past week, and even Heero can see the symbolism in running in one direction when the problems are sitting still behind you.

“Can you do that?" he asks. "Is it what you want?"

Quatre’s jaw goes tight. "I don't know."

"It's a big step. Maybe it wasn't fair of him to expect it of you."

"He was dying. He didn't have to worry about fair."

"No, he was worrying about you."

Quatre finally comes to a halt, though they were barely moving by now, and faces Heero. His eyes are red, that’s what he was hiding, and too bright, though Heero doubts a tear has escaped Quatre’s rigid control in a decade or so. Maybe that’s the biggest change in Quatre, and the biggest loss. When Quatre was fifteen, he was at least emotionally honest.

"How did he hold on thirteen years when I walked away from him?" Quatre asks painfully.

"Day at a time." The breeze is catching Quatre’s hair, and Heero’s too, itching at his eyes. "He figured you were happy."

"Was he happy with Wufei?" Quatre is staring at him.

"They were-- comfortable."

"Did Wufei want this place?"

"This place was never his. Quatre--"

“Because I don’t know, Heero,” Quatre cuts him off, almost before Heero can have the thought in his own head. “Because I didn’t know these things when Trowa was alive and so I’ve got to ask, now, and I have to know, I have to know how to make this right—“

“I think you have to know because you think knowing will make you feel less guilty, but that’s never going to be solved with the answers I can give you.” Heero rubs his mouth, and holds out the leaf, holds it out until Quatre takes it. “They might have lasted if Trowa hadn't died. If they didn't, it wouldn't have been for lack of trying. Come on. We weren’t done with our walk."

They move on in mutual silence, for a while. Quatre is thinking hard, he can tell, can almost follow every thought as it happens. They don’t try to, but when he glances down, they’re walking in time. It makes him smile.

"Good place for children," Quatre says, after almost five minutes of quiet.

"Yes," Heero agrees, but then really thinks about it, and realises Quatre’s right. Everything about this suburb screams ‘family’. Wide streets, picket fences, big yards, gardens for every house; safety and quiet. There’s even one of those community play areas set dead centre of the plots, across the lane from where they’re standing now—Heero was looking right at it and it never registered, he was so familiar with it. It has a slide and a swingset and a merry-go-round, a sand pit, a child-sized football field. While he was focussed on Quatre’s pain, he missed out on Trowa’s, right under his nose all this time.

“There’s not a thing like this on L4,” Quatre says. He doesn’t seem to know what to make of the playground. "I don't think I've ever been on a swing."

Not that Heero has either, but he at least had exercises, and schools, the half-serious sports teams Preventers forms every spring. He knows Quatre fenced competitively, because they once beat the snot out of each other when Wufei suggested a friendly contest, but no, he can’t imagine Quatre playing baseball, or throwing himself down a hot metal slide in summer, jumping from a tyre swing into a lake. But he could do it now. The playground is empty. There’s no-one to stare at the two strange men using the set. "If you want to,” Heero says, “I'll push you."

Quatre gives off a startled laugh, like he’s not sure if it’s a joke. "Really?"

"Yeah, if you want."

His eyes blink rapidly. Then he ducks his head a little. "All right."

The playground is covered with soft astroturf that deadens their footfalls. It’s not precisely still, with the cold breeze starting to bite just a little too much, but it’s very quiet, very hushed. Quatre chooses the swing on the end of the row, the one that hangs a little higher than the others. The chains creak with his weight, and he grabs at them, surprised by having to balance himself. Heero moves behind him, and carefully guides Quatre’s fists higher on the chains until he can support himself. "Hold on," he says. Quatre doesn’t turn to look at him, but it feels like he does, like he’s still staring at Heero.

He lowers his hands to Quatre’s back, fingers pointed down and palms open against the narrow muscles. Quatre’s feet drag for a few seconds before he catches on. Heero increases the power of his pushes incrementally, letting the slow build be the excuse for lingering clasps on Quatre’s waist. “Kick into it,” he tells Quatre, and steps back and lets him go. “On the upswing. Like that.”

"Crazy person," Quatre says shakily, but he obeys. He goes flying past in an arc, and Heero sets his back to the frozen metal pole nearest him to watch. Quatre isn’t clumsy for long. He sets a smooth natural rhythm, finally able to take his eyes off the ground, to look up at the sky overhead. Heero watches as his expression relaxes from somewhere deep inside, as the tight grip of his hands on the chains eases with inattention. Then Heero looks up, too, at the sky going pale back-lit grey and pink, at the misty ceiling of clouds and the waving tree-tops crowning over them. He closes his eyes, then, and just breathes.

It seems like a long time later that the drag of Quatre’s feet on the turf recalls him. Quatre slows to a gentle rest, his head bowed.

“How was it?" Heero asks softly.

Quatre nods slowly, as if inwardly confirming something. "Not bad."

"Would you do it again?”

"I... think, maybe."

Heero understands. It’s been a long time since he really looked outside himself, too. "Next time we'll bring the kids."

"They'll love it. I'd never need to entertain them again. Do you think— I wonder if Olivia is too old. She’s so conscious of her dignity."

“Only because you are.” Quatre’s mouth falls open, and Heero quickly adds, “Duo could tease her into it. If you're not careful, you'll soon have four kids.”

Quatre catches that one, and this time the laugh is genuine and from the gut. "A foul-mouthed and drunken kid. On a good day."

"We could sell him to the gypsies." Heero smiles at him.

"Ha. How do you think we got him in the first place?"

"Maybe we can get Wufei to rein him in."

"Maybe." There’s a short pause where Quatre could have continued the teasing, but misses the beat. He checks his watch and then his phone, a little uneasy ritual Heero wishes he might have forgot by now. "It’s nearly eight,” Quatre says. “I need to think about where they're going to sleep tonight. Mind if we head back?"

"No problem." He offers a hand, and helps Quatre from the swing. "There's two spare rooms, so your kids will have plenty of space."

"You should have a room."

He shakes his head "I like the couch."

"You should still take a room. There's going to be bathroom trips all night, glasses of water. The twins have a night light."

"Don't worry so much, okay? I slept in Wing Zero. I can handle a couch."

“Not for a long time, you haven’t,” Quatre mutters, but Heero starts walking, and a second later Quatre is there, too, silent and scheming.

 

**

 

_He met them in the lobby at the Rocco Forte Hotel de Rome in Berlin. They were easy to pick out, even in a crowd; Quatre had the leather collar of his long coat turned up, but his hair was as bright as ever, and Marina in her sleek and dramatic white couture was a dashing picture. And if that wasn’t enough to identify them, the paparazzi crowded outside the building and peering in the glass doors were a good clue._

_Quatre saw him on the approach, and his face lit into a smile as he waved. “What are you doing here?” he called. He met Heero with a few quick steps and pulled him into an embrace. Heero endured it stiffly._

_“I’m your bodyguard for the conference,” he said. “I thought you requested me.”_

_“I requested someone, but not you specifically—“_

_“Duo,” they guessed simultaneously, but Quatre didn’t seem displeased at all._

_Marina, however, was. Her pretty face was stiff with the effort of ignoring him, even when Quatre tried to introduce them formally. “You don’t have to keep kicking work to your friends,” she hissed at him, just loudly enough for Heero to hear._

_Quatre went red, and so did Heero. “I can wait outside with the car,” he said._

_Quatre had such a tight hold on Marina’s arm that Heero could see his knuckles going white, but the only evidence on Marina’s face was a slight tightening of the lines at her eyes. It was an embarrassingly tense moment between husband and wife, and Heero shifted uncomfortably on his feet._

_“You will wait with the car,” Quatre told her through his teeth. “We’ll be there in a moment.” He released her hard enough to propel her back a step. Marina tossed her hair, and left without a word._

_“I didn’t mean to cause problems,” Heero said.  
“You didn’t cause them.” Quatre made an effort to smile as easily as before. “Duo or no Duo, I—“ There was a buzz from his belt that made them both look. Quatre unhooked his mobile and turned its face into the light of the overhead chandelier. Then, wordlessly, he showed Heero._

_“She took the car,” Heero read. “’Don’t expect me back. Enjoy your boys’ weekend.” He looked up. “Boys’ weekend?”_

_“She’s always resented my friendships, as if those harpies she—“ Quatre stops himself with an effort, eyes closed, breaths carefully regulated. He dials a number, and puts the phone to his ear. “Hilary. I need another car, please. My wife has asked to use the first.”_

_All very polite. All very controlled. It wasn’t the Quatre he liked to remember, but the Quatre he was getting used to seeing. "I appreciate the job," Heero said. “Under whatever circumstances.”_

_"I didn't know you were looking for work. If you want a job..." Quatre touched his arm. "I mean, a permanent job."_

_Heero shook his head. "That might not be a good idea."_

_"I swear, you wouldn't work near Marina." He held up his hands piously._

_"You have to live with her, Quatre." He wondered how long the new car would take. He shifted foot to foot again, then planted both feet solidly in place. "Thanks though."_

_"I'm sorry. Nothing worse than the overbearing rich friend condescendingly offering you work."_

_"I didn't mean it like that."_

_"And I didn't mean it like that either." Quatre let out a comically deep breath. “If you really are-- I mean, I assume you are, because they told me this was just a one-time gig for the conference-- I mean, you know you can always talk to my staff. Even if it isn't with me, they always know of open positions. Have you left Preventers?"_

_Heero looked away. The paparazzi had finished with the excitement of Marina’s unexpected departure and were back to trying to slip into the hotel. The concierge and two burly security were engaged in keeping them back, but it didn’t stop some enterprising few with long lenses from shooting them through the glass. "It isn't working out," he said._

_"Is this because of Duo's accident?"_

_Maybe. He missed his partner, missed the easy communication he had had with Duo, and the easy way Duo had known when to speak for them both and when to let Heero talk for himself when it came to dealing with command. Une seemed to think he could just magically transfer to a new team, but he knew he couldn’t, and not just because he was snobbish about the abilities of other Preventers. He’d always had a stormy romance with Preventers; he’d be out whenever they didn’t like his methods, back in whenever they needed him enough._

_“Heero?”_

_"I'm on suspension."_

_"I'm not sure that entirely answered my question." The car finally arrived, heralded by renewed activity from the photographers._

_"The car's here," Heero said. “Let me go first.”_

_“I know the deal.” And he does. Heero keeps an out-thrust arm between Quatre and the shouting parasites who descended as soon as they left the safety of the lobby, and it was only a few steps really from the doors to the car. The driver was ready for them, and they were back into privacy and quiet within seconds._

_"How is Duo doing?" Quatre asked._

_"He spends a lot of time with Wufei," Heero said._

_"Wufei?" Quatre was surprised. "I didn't know they were all that close. I thought Wufei didn't like him, actually."_

_Heero shrugged. "He came to the hospital from the first day. He drove Duo home. Duo seems-- peaceful, I guess, when he's around."_

_To his surprise, Quatre looked thoughtful. "I suppose it had to happen eventually."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_But he just smiled quickly. "I guess they briefed you... It's not like I really need a bodyguard, but it looks like I'm going to need someone to eat meals with. Boys’ weekend after all? It's practically a holiday."_

_"You're changing the subject."_

_"I am indeed."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because sometimes the universe operates without my influence, even if it pains me to admit it." He touched Heero’s arm again, as the car started up and they began to move into traffic. He was positively cheerful now. "You know, I'm glad it's you. I'm glad you're here. This weekend was going to be boring and awful. Now I actually look forward to it."_

_He was honestly not sure if Quatre was shining on him or what. Then, mock-grimly, he said, "You do realize that I'm on the job. Not house entertainment." It was as close to a joke as he ever got._

_Quatre fell for it completely—he never could tell when people were being sarcastic. He was halfway through stuttering an apology when he realised, finally, he’d been had. But then he did something Heero wasn’t—didn’t—he leaned in, but then he caught himself, and for a second Heero had been absolutely positive Quatre was going to kiss him. And once that thought hit him, Heero couldn’t tear his eyes away from Quatre’s mouth._

 

**

Heero doesn’t know if Duo brought in sheets and things for them, or if he and Wufei just left most of Trowa’s things in place when they cleaned out the house, but the linen closet is stocked for full capacity of guests. He helps Quatre make up the spare beds, and then they make up the master bed, too, in Trowa’s bedroom.

“You could turn it,” Heero says. “The bed. To look at the window.”

He seems to be constantly startling Quatre. He has an impression of wide eyes, right before a crash interrupts any reply.

It’s Duo and the children. The twins, it has to be the twins, are screaming excitedly. Duo’s lower voice is incomprehensible, but it seems to egg them on.

Quatre rolls his eyes at Heero. "So much for a quiet evening."

"Let me see what’s going on."

"Heero--" Quatre stops him with a hand on his wrist. "If I don't remember to say it later, thank you. For all of this."

Heero smiles. "No problem."

From the foyer, Duo shouts, "Yo! Where's the adults?"

"Think you can leave the house standing, Duo?" Heero answers, emerging from the hall onto a scene of utter chaos. There’s shopping bags and take away bags and three huge stuffed giraffes, half-eaten cones of cotton candy, and two wildly bouncing twins performing a whirling dervish around their older sister. But when they see Heero and Quatre, they immediately descended like a miniature tornadoes, intent on devastating their targets.

“Daddy! We went to the zoo!”

“And there were gorillas and zebras and dinosaurs.”

“Dinosaurs!” Quatre says. “Which kinds?”

“And we had astronaut ice cream for lunch—“

“We went to the Natural History Museum after the zoo,” Duo clarifies.

“And they don’t have sandwiches at the Natural History Museum?”

“I want my money back,” Heero says.

“And Daddy, Uncle Duo can take his whole leg off!” Jared finishes triumphantly.

“He can, can he?” Quatre picks Olivia up and swings her off her feet. She giggles with real pleasure as he kisses her. “Livy, why don’t you tell me all about it while we put all this food away? Twinlets, help your uncles unpack all your loot.”

All right, then. He remembers that Quatre said their usual bed time is eight, and it’s now quarter past. Jared is nearest him, so Heero does what Quatre did, scoops him off his feet and into the air. "Bath time."

Unlike Olivia, Jared rebels immediately, squirming and contorting in an attempt to get away, and only a quick grab keeps him from falling to the floor. "No!" Jared shouts in his ear. “No, I don’t want to—“

Duo sits up from the couch and points a commanding finger. To Heero’s amazement, Jared quiets promptly. "You promised me, boyo,” Duo says seriously. “Remember? Boys don't break promises."

The result of that is impressive. Jared pouts and his face is red, and his lip trembles suspiciously, but he doesn’t protest. Duo might be better at this than Heero realised. "That's true, Jared,” he echoes belatedly. “Boys don't break promises.” Mira is making funny faces from the floor, and Jared elbows Heero until he lets go. “Jared, please?"

“Never say ‘please’,” Duo wisely instructs him, just in time to prevent baby-round arms from crossing stubbornly. “Oh well,” Duo says loudly, carelessly ignoring the tantrum about to explode. “I told Mira she was quicker’n you anyway. Guess I’m right.”

“I am so quicker!” It’s like a switch has been thrown. “See how fast I can do it, Uncle Duo.” He’s off like a shot, careening unerringly down the hall to the bath. Mira is only a step behind. Their laughter trails after them like bells.

“Thanks,” Heero says.

“Take advantage while they’re still young enough not to realise they’re being tricked. Don’t let them run the water on their own.” Heero follows the twins, and Duo calls after him, "I'm fine, by the way, thanks for asking."

The children are indeed running the water, though they seem to know what they’re doing. Clothes are scattered in front of the sink, and both the twins are sitting naked in an inch of water, splashing each other and drowning an equally naked doll with frizzy hair. “Look, Uncle Heero!” Mira says as he enters, and points to her navel.

Heero quickly averts his eyes, not sure what to do. He’d rather hazily imagined Quatre would take care of his daughters. "Is this the normal routine?" he asks them.

Quatre appears as soon as Heero thinks of him, starting Heero with a squeeze on the shoulder. "It's all right, as long as they’re not fighting."

"Oh.” He’s still not sure about the mechanics of watching them, particularly as neither twin seems afflicted with shyness. “Then... okay."

"Thanks for helping. I'll take over from here though. Go see Duo out?" Quatre is already folding their clothes and supplying shampoo and soap from the toiletries bag. "Invite him to breakfast tomorrow. We'll find a place to eat out."

That’s a request he can happily comply with. He squeezes past Quatre to the door. “If you're sure."

"Yes." Quatre flashes him a bright smile, and Heero’s stomach sinks. He recognises this Quatre very well, from the week he’s just spent with them on L4. This is Father Winner, Family Man. The Quatre he had to himself all afternoon is good as gone. “Oh, don’t go into the master bath. Olivia’s using the shower.”

“Right,” Heero says. “Okay.”

Duo is dozing on the couch when Heero returns to the den. Heero turns on the light over his head. "Hey. You all right?"

Duo’s eyes stay closed. "Those kids were a lot cuter when they couldn't walk."

"Want some coffee?"

"Would get me home, anyway." Duo drags himself to sit up again. "Point me at it. I'll make it."

He shakes his head. There were ground beans in the box Duo left for them. He goes to the kitchen to start a pot, listening for Duo’s just slightly uneven footsteps to follow. "Thanks for taking the kids today. And stocking the kitchen."

"Yeah, it was no problem." Duo seats himself with rather more care, this time, and props his good leg on a second chair. "Mind if I ask the obvious?"

"What's the obvious?" He pours water into the coffee maker and shakes a scoop of grounds into the mesh filter. It should only take a few minutes to brew a cup. Depending on how long Quatre takes with the children, he might not miss Duo leaving after all.

"What were you doing on L4?” Duo says. “You never go there unless the rest of us are going, and half the time, not even then."

It’s not an easy thing to answer. He leans on the counter facing Duo, and tries to pick the best words. "Trowa asked me to check on him."

"Pre- or post- mortem?" Duo asks, a short pause later.

"Both." Duo’s eyes go narrow. "We talked about it the last few weeks. And he left me a letter. I think—“ He hesitates. "He left Quatre this house. He left you Wufei. And he gave Quatre to me."

The pause is longer this time. Then Duo laughs, not lightly. "Sonnova bitch."

Heero doesn't know if it's funny or not. "Don't tell him."

“Him who? And tell him what, anyway? There's nothing to say."

"Okay." The red light appears over the spout. He puts a mug on the stand beneath, and coffee streams out, steaming and fragrant. There’s a box of sugar cubes in the crate, and he drops in three before he hands Duo the cup. Duo is silent and grim during the wait.

"So what,” he says, as their hands brush over the ceramic handle. “You doin' Quatre?"

"No." There’s enough left for a second cup. Rather than discard it, Heero drains it into a second mug for himself. Duo is watching him a little too hawkishly, so he doesn’t sit. He takes longer than is really necessary to fill the electric kettle for tea, and dithers over the chai bags.

Duo laughs at his back, but this time it’s reluctantly amused. "Man's been celibate for a decade, you know."

"He's not the only one," Heero mumbles very quietly. But Duo hears. Duo always hears the embarrassing things. A sugar cube, half dissolved from the coffee, bounces off his shoulder and lands in the sink. "What?"

"C'mon, dude. This was coming since we were teenagers. Might as well be straight with him. What's he going to say?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. Besides, he doesn't need to deal with any more than he already has right now."

“I do too know what I'm talking about. Maybe the shit he has got to deal with isn't stuff that ever gets done. Give him something he can figure out."

Heero doesn’t like that easy brush-off. "He's still processing Trowa's loss."

"Yeah, but the man can't get any deader."

"It's unfair to ambush him."

“The ambush happened three months ago, Heero. You're the ally showing up late for the party."

"I'll handle it,” he says flatly. “Maybe Quatre's not the only person with things to work through. Drink your coffee."

"It's fucking drunk." The mug clinks decisively against the tabletop. Duo swings to his feet. "I'm going home. Let me know if you need anything else while you're in town."

"Come for breakfast tomorrow."

"Sure. Call me."

"Just come. Quatre wants you to. Ten, okay? Bring Wufei if you want."

"I'll ask him," Duo says sceptically. He mimes doffing a hat, a gesture he picked up somewhere and only pulls out when he’s unhappy with someone. But he’s stumping off for the door at full speed, so Heero can only follow behind.

"How is he, anyway?" He hasn’t asked since—since a few weeks after the funeral, maybe.

"In the sack?" Duo waggles an eyebrow at Heero as he shrugs into his coat and wraps his scarf up.

“Asshole." He has no venom to put behind it. Duo is Duo. "Get out of here."

Duo cuffs him lightly on the cheek, and the door barely snicks as it closes after him.

Things are very quiet now. The bath is still draining when he checks, but the twins are gone, and two damp towels are hanging from the rack. There’s no noise at all from Trowa’s—Quatre’s—bedroom, and the light is off. One of the guest rooms has a dim line of yellow from beneath the door, though. Heero rounds the corner just enough to look inside. Just as quickly he backs away. They’re praying.

He steeps a cup of tea for Quatre and drinks half of the leftover coffee. When he ventures back, the voices have stopped, and Quatre is leaving the bedroom, closing it halfway behind them. Heero holds out the cup.

“Oh,” Quatre says. "Thank you. That was thoughtful. I hope we didn’t disturb you."

"I was just cleaning up.” He isn’t entirely sure how to address it, because none of them were ever particularly comfortable with Quatre’s religion, but he wants to know. “Tomorrow is Friday. We could find a mosque in the city.”

“Maybe,” Quatre says, his attention on his cup. “It seems like, lately, it seems… I don’t know. It doesn’t comfort me the way it used to. But I still want the children to know their faith, until they’re old enough to decide whether they want to follow it.” He lets out a deep breath. "Duo get out all right?”

"He was pretty tired. I almost asked him to stay." Heero shrugs, and leans against the hallway wall. "It's kind of a full house already, though. I guess."

Quatre looks a little guilty. "I didn't think of it."

"I don't know if he'll show up for breakfast."

“Well, we’ll see. Look, I put all the kids in the room. So the second spare is open for you. Please don't sleep on the couch."

He scowls at that. "For tonight. Maybe. They're your kids. They deserve their own place."

But Quatre looks quite pleased with himself. "Tonight for starters."

"You think you won. Don't you?"

"I got my foot in the door. In my experience, the rest is just a matter of time."

"I forgot how tenacious you are. But you look beat. You should sleep."

"I can't believe I slept so long today and I'm still tired." He sips the tea again. Then, "Oh, we left all the dust sheets in your room. I'll help you put them away. Or do you think we should wash them?"

"Quatre."

"In the morning, I meant," he adds lamely.

"Give me the tea. You don't want it."

He doesn't hand it over. Instead, he grips it tighter. "It was really very kind of you to make it."

"I'll make you another cup tomorrow," Heero says. At that, Quatre reluctantly gives over, and Heero sets it on the little hall table. "Promise me you're going to sleep."

"I don't think I have to." Quatre offers him a weary smile.

"Good. That's good." He hesitates a second longer, then steps in and kisses Quatre lightly. He can tell as soon as their mouths touch that Quatre was anticipating it, that he’s nervous; his body is humming a little, and his hand lights on Heero’s arm too quickly to be a reaction to just the kiss itself. It holds him there when he might have ended it, so he lingers at it instead, presses his lips a little more firmly. He’s not inexpert at this, and it feels so good, and easier than he’d thought it would be, easier than the first time a week ago, and Quatre leans against him, his other hand at the edge of Heero’s stomach, tentatively cupping his waist.

Heero pulls away with great effort. "Sleep," he whispers, because he can’t make himself speak any louder than that.

Embarrassment spasms across Quatre’s face, and he rubs at the flush on his neck. Heero opens his mouth to tell him that wasn’t rejection, it was only caution, but the creak of the door alerts them.

"Daddy," Jared says.

Quatre's eyes close. They stay closed.

Heero swallows dryly. "What is it, little man?"

The boy rubs his eyes. “Can we have water?"

"I'll get it." Quatre nods minutely. Heero motions Jared back to bed, and just remembers to pick up the tea cup before going to the kitchen.

Olivia is asleep on the pull-out couch, and the twins are curled together on the double bed. It’s Mira who sits up to take the glass Heero brought. She thanks him sleepily and lets him tuck the sheet about her small body. Quatre left the window propped open just an inch, and the room smells like fresh air and winter.

Quatre’s fumbling through his suitcase in the master room. Heero knocks softly, and he jumps. "I was sure I packed night clothes," he says. “I don't know what the hell I did pack."

"No one will be offended if you just sleep in your underwear."

He pulls sharply from the bottom and comes up with a tee shirt and pair of pants. "Found it."

Heero nods. "I'll let you sleep then."

"Thank you. Sleep well yourself."

"Quatre."

He’s still finding excuses to not quite look at Heero, turning the lamp off and then to a lower setting that throws shadows over the striped wallpaper. Now he’s emptying his pockets onto the bureau top, a handful of change and his wallet, crumpled tissues. "That's my name, yes."

Heero says, "Tell me now if you don't want me to try that again. I'll be more-- respectful of your space."

Quatre’s shoulders go stiff. “I thought I was pretty clear in enjoying it."

"Okay. Then I will. Try again."

After a moment, Quatre relaxes, just a little. "Good night."

"Good night," Heero echoes, and goes.

 

**

 

_For about five minutes, the year they turned eighteen, Quatre wanted to join the Preventers._

_It might have been a passing fancy, and it might have ended as one if they had just let it alone. By then the rest of them were already in, and had been in long enough to know that the reality was not quite living up to the ideal. Une would have been the first to talk him out of it—Quatre was already too visible, a press darling, since it had become public knowledge who the Gundam pilots were, and that one of them was Quatre Winner, one of the rich and powerful colonial celebrities. She would have handled it with dignity and tact. Trowa didn’t._

_They had the argument in full hearing of anyone anywhere near the mens’ room on the fourth floor of the new Preventers HQ. It was a surprisingly ugly argument. Duo walked away after they started cursing; Wufei before anyone could throw a punch. Heero stayed longer just from wondering if he ought to try to break them up, or at least let them know that the entire building was hanging on every word. But in the end he didn’t have to. Just as he was about to force the door, it wrenched open from the inside, and Quatre came storming out. Trowa was one step behind him, and they went stalking off in opposite directions._

_“Quatre,” Heero called, and went after him._

_"He's a controlling jerk!" Quatre announced. He wiped hurriedly at his face, and made a sprint for the lift at the end of the hall._

_"He can be, yeah. Hey, wait for me." He caught up to Quatre in time to stop him from tapping the call button. A uniformed woman waiting for the lift wisely decided she could wait longer, and made herself scarce._

_Quatre said, "I was just thinking about it."_

_“Do you want to go somewhere quiet?” Now that he had the chance, he wasn’t entirely sure how to help. “Talk about it?"_

_"What's the point? He's already decided for me."_

_"You don't have to do anything you don't want, Quatre. Or rather— if you want to do something, you can do it."_

_Quatre had noticed people staring. A slow blush was working its way up from his collar to his hairline. He scrubbed his hands through his pale hair until it stood on end, the very picture of dejection. "I'm sorry. I'm done throwing a tantrum."_

_"Look, let's find a room at least. We can take a breather."_

_Then Trowa was there. He wrapped an arm about Quatre’s shoulders and kissed him on the neck. "I've got it handled,” he told Heero, and kissed Quatre again until Quatre relented. “I'm sorry, baby. Come on. Let’s give this a second try."_

_Heero didn’t know which of them to be more irritated with. After a fight like that, Quatre ought to have held to his guns a little longer._

_“Come on,” Trowa said, more insistently. He took a step away from Heero, dragging Quatre with him. Trowa always got his way._

_Quatre wore an excruciatingly apologetic expression. He reached a hand for Heero, for what, Heero didn’t know, but Trowa pulled him away anyhow._

 

**

 

Heero wakes with the dawn, wherever or whenever the dawn is. The entire house is silent.

The coffee Duo left them is generic and a little stale, and they could use a wider selection of groceries for meals. So he leaves everyone asleep and takes the rental car up the road. He gets fresh ground Sumatra and muffins the size of his fist—he’s not entirely sure Duo will come for breakfast, or that Quatre will want to go out. There’s a diner up the road that Trowa and he used to like, when Heero would visit. He’s not entirely sure he can visualise Quatre in a diner in his dress shirts and shined shoes, but that’s the point of all this, isn’t it? Getting Quatre out of the world he’s been living in, the world he’s been strangling in.

When he returns to the house, he can hear one of the showers running. He brews the coffee and sets out plates for the muffins. He’s reading the local newspaper when the water stops, and footsteps head toward the kitchen. It’s not Quatre, as he expects, but Olivia. She's dressed herself very nicely, a modest little dress of grey wool with a pretty blue cardigan, her feet whispering over the tile in house slippers. He thinks he recognises the way her hair is braided, too. A certain loud-mouthed uncle has obviously gained a new fan.

"Morning,” he says. She ducks her head at him with a faint pinkening of her cheeks, and slides onto a chair opposite him. “Are you coffee or tea?" he asks, unsure what else to offer.

Olivia glances quickly behind her. To the bedrooms? Heero isn’t certain. Her hands make fists suddenly, and she hides them in her lap. "Coffee, please."

He pours a second cup of the Sumatra, and cream and sugar as well, figuring if Duo with his sweet-tooth would like it that way, she might too. More cream than coffee, really, when he can’t decide. "Hope it's okay." It sloshes, a little overfull, as he sets it in front of her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Shyly, or boldly, maybe, considering how little she opens her mouth, she asks him, "Did you?"

“Well, thank you.” She holds her palm under the cup as she raises to her lips, her eyes darting one more time toward the bedrooms. Then she sips, and an uncertain expression jerks her back. "Hungry?"

"A little." She doesn’t reach for the muffins until Heero pushes the box to her. She picks banana, the only kind he got two of. She makes a second attempt at the coffee, and this time Heero is fairly sure she doesn’t like it, and probably wasn’t supposed to have it. She’s definitely checking to be sure her father isn’t watching over her shoulder. He never would have expected her, of all the children, to fudge the rules. In a strange way, he finds it a bit of a relief that she’s capable of it.

And then Quatre is there. It’s not the first time Heero has noticed that—it’s almost as if Quatre knows when someone is thinking about him. Which is not beyond possibility. “Good morning,” Quatre greets them. "Oh, don’t eat too much. We're going out with Duo, remember?" He bents to press a kiss to Olivia’s temple, and eyes the cups on the table. "Is that coffee?"

His eyes slant up to Heero when he says it. Heero feels his face go hot.

"Silly ducky," Quatre adds, to which of them is unclear. Olivia is as red as Heero, but Quatre doesn’t say another word about it, just picks up Olivia’s cup and drinks from it himself.

“Uh,” Heero says. “That was mine, Quatre. Your tea's on the counter."

“Ah,” Quatre says. He takes another quick swallow, and hands the cup to Heero. He never looks at the cup already sitting in front of Heero, but he doesn’t hide his amusement. At least Olivia is grateful to him. She’s young enough to miss the byplay, just relieved not to be in trouble.

"Did you get some rest?" Heero asks awkwardly.

"Plenty, thanks." Quatre seats himself with his tea. “What about you, sweetheart? Any interesting dreams last night?”

Olivia perks a bit at that. “I was riding Ai-Hawa.”

“Her pony,” Quatre confides to Heero. He halves Olivia’s muffin and takes a bite. “That’s not so interesting,” he teases her.

“It was when she turned into a swimming horse! She had flippers.”

“Flippers!” Quatre sips his tea. “Better, but not quite interesting.”

“And she wasn’t brown, she was pinky-purple.”

“Pinky-purple,” Quatre repeats gravely. “Well, that is something special.”

“I think it’s interesting.” It was. Heero didn’t dream in colour, when he dreamt at all. Although he had been dreaming, lately. All last night. He’d waked in a sweat, though he couldn’t remember any of it now except a haunting aftertaste of anxiety. And it earns him another smile from Olivia, even a hint of teeth in their corrective braces.

Then Quatre says, "I'm thinking of a number..."

Olivia is more excited than Heero has ever seen her. She sits straight in her chair, her hands clasped intently on the table as she stares at her father’s face. Quatre flicks his eyes to Heero, and winks. A game, Heero realises.

Quatre picks a muffin out of the box and displays it on one of the plates like a trophy. “Whoever guesses it gets the only blueberry muffin, so it's a very important number."

“Lower than a hundred?" she says eagerly.

"Lower than a hundred."

Heero tries to guess what it might be. A lucky number? If it was his to pick, he might have chosen their old OZ designations; it had been a joke between them all for years. But no, that would be obvious. If it was a number with personal significance, Heero would be the last to know. The number of years married? He doubted Quatre would choose that. Olivia’s age? But Olivia would be likely to guess it. Unless that was the idea, so she would get the reward.

Quatre was writing his choice on a slip of message paper from beside the vidphone. Olivia's watching eagerly. "Lower than fifty?" she presses him.

"Higher."

"I'm out,” Heero admits. “I was guessing thirty seven." Quatre’s age, as of the last birthday.

Quatre makes a mock-sympathetic face at him. "So sad."

Olivia bounces in her seat. "Ninety-two."

Quatre shows them his note. Nintey-two. Olivia is grinning unabashedly in pleasure, and Heero smiles, too. "Well done,” he says, just as Quatre says it, too. Their eyes meet.

“Do I get the muffin?”

“You absolutely do.” Quatre hums a stentorian march as he presents her with the plate. Olivia accepts it with great pomp and circumstance, even rising from her chair to curtsey for them. Quatre laughs with delight. “Go tell the twins about your triumph,” he says, and gives her muffins for them, too. They can hear her clear high voice from the hall, followed by squeals and giggles. Heero feels his chest tighten, listening to them. He doesn’t think he was ever that innocent.

Quatre’s fingers fall to his wrist. “Why do you look so sad suddenly?”

“Don’t mind me.” He turns his hand upright, to wrap around Quatre’s. "Maybe you can teach that to me."

“She's always right." Quatre crumples the note in his free hand, and taps Heero on the nose with it. It’s flirtatious, but it’s also nervous, a little off the edge of Quatre’s usual grace. "I honestly don't know if it's her guessing correctly every time, or me guessing what she's going to guess."

"Maybe it's you."

"Being the good guy is the easy part." His mouth quirks. "But she's a little young for a coffee habit. Tea or juice."

"I’m sorry about that. I don't know much about them. About kids."

"Well, I've read every parenting book on the market, and I can tell you that all the preparation in the world is nothing to just wading in and doing."

"I'll work on that." It sounds bold leaving his lips. It is bold. He wasn’t invited to, not really, not beyond this week. It just—spoke itself. He leans across the table and kisses Quatre quickly, before he can protest either presumption. He’s working on the kissing, too. It lasts exactly three gentle exhalations against his cheek.

Quatre’s eyes are closed when he sits back. Heero folds the newspaper very precisely. Then, in absence of anything else to do, he takes out the bran muffin and cuts it in half. He puts the half with the paper wrapper before Quatre.

"At some point,” Quatre says, his voice oddly tentative, “maybe we ought to talk about that."

"Okay.” He isn’t surprised, except that Quatre waited so long to say it. “So, let's talk."

"Now?"

"Before Duo gets here would be good." If only to spare themselves the lecture, and the swearing.

Quatre picks at the muffin, squishing brown crumbs with a fingertip. "What are your-- intentions?"

"Intentions? I… like you." There ought to be a goal, or at least an action verb. But it’s all cloudy in Heero’s mind, shapeless. There was never any planning involved, for all he had the letter for three months before he acted on it. He’s not entirely sure he knows why he did come, moment to moment. Just Quatre, like Quatre is a reason and an end in and of himself. "What are yours? Your intentions?"

Quatre takes much longer at answering, his lips pursed, then pressed between his teeth. "This isn't just a house, that he left me. It's a life. Life with a-- man."

That knocks the wind out of him a little, that they’re thinking the same thing. “I didn't think you knew."

"Knew?" Quatre looks blank. Then a slow flush of realisation falls over his face, and it isn’t pleasant. “You think he sent you to replace him?”

"He... hell.” Heero’s mouth goes dry. “I don't know. Maybe I got it wrong. I'm not very smart about these things. Subtleties. Subtext." Quatre is staring at him, and the walls are going up so fast Heero can see them. "It just felt like he was sending me to you."

"Did it." Flat and frosty.

"He knew I'd been thinking—“ Thinking isn’t the right word. There are no right words, and the ones he does know don’t want to form in his mouth. “A long time."

"About what, exactly?" Quatre leaps on all wrong parts, the dimensions Heero doesn’t know and has no map for. “Being with a man? Me? What, Heero?"

"Being with you."

“I can't help thinking that would have been a much nicer revelation if it didn't feel like Trowa had arranged all of it,” he snaps. “It's not a situation that smacks of free will, suddenly.”

"Duo's been on my back about it for a year and a half, too. Since you and Marina separated."

The wind goes out of Quatre’s stride with a blink, with his mouth still open.

Heero finds enough saliva to swallow. The tirade is over without really starting. "Maybe I should give him a wake-up call," he says.

Quatre scratches his nose. A moment later, he nods.

"I should have kept quiet."

"I did ask." Quatre hesitates halfway to his feet, then completes the gesture. "I'll get the twins up and ready."

"Yeah." Heero stands too, though purposelessly. "Quat-- Did I wreck it?"

"I need to think about it," Quatre answers.

There’s nothing to say to that, except-- "Understood."

"Did you two fuck already?” Duo demands, less than a minute after being let through the door. “I could cut the tension in here with a knife."

They’re at least alone. There’s a coffee stain on Duo’s pink shirt, and Heero trails him to the laundry room so Duo can hunt for the stain pen he maintains Trowa kept around somewhere. "I screwed up," Heero says, and leans on the washing machine as Duo goes tearing into the row of overhead cabinets.

"During the fucking or after?"

"We didn't."

"And now you're worried you won't?"

“I'm worried he's going to ask me to go."

"Chill out,” Duo advises. He finds the pen, and manages to pin the corner of his shirt to the countertop without taking it off as he rubs the formula over the coffee blotch. “At the very least, Quatre's never kicked anyone out in his life. Didn't even bounce his own wife to the kerb. Speaking of, which one of you is going to be the wife?"

Heero scowls at him. “Shut the hell up."

"Honest curiosity!"

"You don't get to ask those kinds of questions."

"Fine. Where's my breakfast?"

"There are muffins on the table. The stain is fine. You could tuck your shirt in."

"Muffins? You called me over for freaking muffins." But he takes two when they get to the kitchen. There’s one in his mouth by the end of the sentence.

"We'll go as soon as the kids are ready. Don't stuff yourself."

"Wa's tagig them so log?" Duo makes a mighty effort to swallow, and yells, "Move it or lose it! Breakfast train is rolling out."

Heero punches him in the shoulder, rather hard. “Try not to be an ass," he orders, and folds his arms over his chest. "Where's Wufei?"

"Ow, fucker!" Duo’s expression is injured and resentful as he rubs his shoulder. "He's declined, with apologies. He's scared of Quat."

"What in hell for?"

"Don't jump on him. You're scared of Quat, too."

"I'm not!"

"No?"

"Not like you think," he says stiffly.

"Yeah, whatever." Quatre’s come out into the hall with his three prettily dressed and groomed young children, who brighten considerably when they see their hero from the day before. Duo grins widely at them. "Hey, goober-bums." Jared giggles, and laughs harder when Heero whacks Duo again. Duo turns to glare at him. "Same fu-- stupid shoulder, man!"

"Watch your mouth."

"I am."

Quatre wearily says, "Good morning, Duo. Come on, everyone."

 

**

 

Duo’s cutlery hits the table with a metallic thump. He says, "I don't know why you think I won't make a scene in front of people, but you're dead wrong on that one."

It’s as bad as the first day on L4 when Quatre had kept an entire playdate between him and Heero. He’s very adept at it—it barely looks like a brush-off. But it is. They barely get past the banalities of weather and work before Quatre is so absorbed in the children that Duo and Heero are left to talk to each other over his head. The twins don’t even cut their own food before Quatre is reaching to do it for them.

Duo is not happy with it, and that starts to worry Heero more than Quatre’s sudden reticence, which will probably fix itself when they can get a little time alone. If. But Duo has that particular scowl that turns down the corners of his mouth. In retrospect, Heero will remember that they made it a full hour before anything exploded. At the moment it’s happening, he just can’t figure out a way to prevent it.

Heero tries to step on Duo’s foot under the table, but gets the prosthetic by accident, and Duo never registers his interference. "Which part of you do you think I'll hit if you don't behave," Heero growls at him.

"You're both ignorant morons." Duo takes out his wallet and produces a tenner for Jared. "Go play on the games in front. See if you can win a keychain or something."

“Daddy?” That’s Olivia, suddenly alone on her side of the table—the twins are off like a light.

“It’s all right, sugarpie,” Duo says. “Boring adult stuff.”

Quatre’s face has gone still and reserved. “Stay in sight,” he tells her, and Olivia slides off her chair looking anxious. Heero tries to smile after her, but isn’t sure if she sees before she goes.

"That was uncalled for." Quatre wipes his mouth and sets his napkin aside.

Duo ignores that. "What's wrong with you two?"

"Leave him alone," Heero interrupts.

"He can speak for himself."

Quatre says, "Leave me alone, then," flatly.

"Talkin' tough, for a man who hides behind his own kids."

Quatre turns a bright red, and Heero feels a hot dangerous pressure building in his head. He should leave. He should drag Duo with him. He should probably punch Duo in the face.

"Excuse me?" Quatre is saying.

"I don't think so. Act like an adult.” Duo’s body language isn’t aggressive, and that’s all that stops Heero from stopping him, a hesitation of uncertainty about what Duo’s really doing, when he speaks like that but sits very still in his chair with his hands flat on his lap. “You have a problem. Fix it."

"No one has a problem here, Duo. Not one that's any of your business."

Duo turns his head to look at Heero directly. "He was my friend too."

"Is this about Trowa?"

"It's all fucking about Trowa. He was my friend, too, and I’m pretty god-damn involved, so shut up for a minute." Duo is severe, and unmoved. The red has drained from Quatre’s face except for two blotchy streaks on his cheeks, but he’s not looking at Duo anymore, just the table, the wall. "You came running back into his life for like five seconds at the end,” Duo says to him. “It was brave. And damn right you should have been there. But you weren't there for a long time in between, and the rest of us were. You're not the only one who's hurt and confused."

God. That’s cruel, even if it’s true. Quatre brings up a hand to cover his mouth, and Duo’s jaw is set. Heero wants to shake him until his teeth rattle.

"Did that make you feel better?" he demands hoarsely. He reaches for Quatre’s hand over the table, until Quatre jerks away. He doesn’t know what to do.

A tiny smile appears on Duo’s mouth. Edgy. The smile Heero remembers from a dozen battles in Gundams that have been dust for two decades. Quatre just looks sick.

"Trowa meddled with a lot of shit,” Duo goes on, inexorably. “But he's dead and we can't argue with him about it. Take the fucking house. You really want a stranger living there?"

Quatre touches his juice to his lips, but he doesn’t swallow. "No," he answers quietly.

Duo’s eyes swerve to Heero. "Did you tell him the part where you love him?"

He can still be shocked, even after what Duo just said. "I've had a week, Duo. I was getting to it."

“If we get anything out of what happened, it ought to be that there's not a lot of time for fucking around."

"There's time for this. I'm not rushing him."

Except it's definitely in the air now, and Quatre's looking at Heero with a decidedly odd, and completely indecipherable, expression. Heero’s throat is dry, and his stomach feels too heavy for his body.

"I do,” he says honestly. “I have."

Quatre licks his lips, and shifts slightly in his chair. "You never said anything."

"You were with Trowa. Then you were married."

"That long?" Quatre’s eyes widen. Heero can only nod. Duo nods, too, finally satisfied with their dual humiliation.

"You don't have to do anything about it, Quatre." Quatre is just staring at him. But his eyes drop to his lap when Heero says his name.

Duo grunts. "I'll get the kids."

"Don't upset them too," Heero starts.

"Unlike the rest of us, they haven't done anything wrong." Duo doesn’t look back as he walks off for the lobby. Heero kicks his chair back to the table, just to have the physical release.

"I'm sorry," he says. “Unbelievably.”

Quatre makes a just edge-of-explosion exhale. "Don't be. He's right."

"About some of the things. Not everything."

"Pretty close." Quatre’s twisted his napkin into knots. It drops to the table next to his plate. “Heero. I—“ But he doesn’t get any further than that. His head drops again.

"Don't let him make you feel guilty. Not about Trowa and,” Heero pauses for a swallow that tastes sour. “Not about me. I don’t want your guilt."

"I already feel guilty, Heero, I've been guilty for fourteen years."

“Maybe you should stop."

He watches the heave of Quatre’s chest with a shallow inhale. Like fencing. Watch the chest to know what the fencer will do. But this isn’t fencing, and if there are clues, they aren’t the kind Heero can read. Quatre is composed and quiet, and it all stays behind the eyes.

He tries anyway. "There's time."

“Yes.”

“I should go rescue the kids."

Quatre rubs the bridge of his nose. "Tell them food's getting cold and there's no lunch."

"Yeah, okay." He stands. From this angle, looking down at Quatre’s bright hair, he feels more shut out than ever. It only took him a week to get used to that tentative inclusion. If he tries, maybe it will only take that long to forget it, too.

Duo is on his knees on the floor in the lobby in front of the grabby tool game showing Jared how to steal the toys from the base. Heero knocks him off balance with a foot to the behind, and Duo fetches up against the game with a cross look over his shoulder.

"Sometimes grown-ups don't teach the right lessons," Heero says to Jared. Olivia has her thumbnail between her teeth, and she’s watching him, so worried, waiting for his reassurance. This time she sees his smile, and returns it with a tiny one of her own.

Duo makes it to his feet with the game for a crutch. "You gonna hit me again?” he asks. “After a while you're kind of just beating on a cripple."

"The only thing crippled is your common sense, damn it," Heero retorts.

He forgot the children. Mira says, "You swore."

"I’m sorry." He manages another smile.

Duo begins to grin. "Go eat, kiddies." He tosses Jared a rabbit’s foot keychain from the game.

“No lunch,” Heero calls after them.

"So,” Duo says. “Do I get to ride back with you or am I calling a cab?"

"I should make you walk." There are benches along the wall. Heero slumps onto one. Duo rubs his hair, and sits next to him. He claps his hand to Heero’s knee.

"It needed saying.” Duo’s hand still rests on his leg. Heero lays his own hand on top of it, fingers almost laced but not clasped. Permission to meddle. When he lifts away, Duo gives a funny sort of snort of laughter. “He needed someone to say it. Forgiveness doesn't mean anything if it's automatic."

"You're always too quick on the draw, Duo."

"You're slow."

Heero exhales from deep in the gut. "He's not ready."

"He's not going to be ready, Heero.” This is Duo at his most gentle. “Not if we don't help. We're his damn friends. It's our job."

"Should I be pushing Wufei at you then, too?"

"What makes you think I'm waiting for him to get pushed?"

"I don't know, Duo." He feels tired suddenly. He didn't mean to throw it back at Duo.

Duo’s finally looked away. It’s easy to forget that Duo’s tired, too. He was never the same after his accident.

“There pain?” Heero asks him softly.

Duo pats his knee. "I'll just go home after this, I think. You two can sort out without anymore interference from me."

"It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do."

"He's dead, Heero. We're not."

"I know."

A week ago he told Quatre that he didn’t have any friends. It's not the kind of confession he likes to make. Not that he likes confessing things to anyone. And telling Quatre that he's troubled about anything is like a call to arms. Quatre's a fixer. So telling Quatre he has no friends is like begging Quat to be all he needs, regardless of-- whether he wants to be or not. That’s not Duo. Duo expects Heero to do it himself. Expects the same out of Quatre. He'll help—whether they want it or not. He'll support, because he’s Duo. A deep friendship. But he hasn’t been there in the same way since he lost his leg. And with Wufei gone into hiding, there’s really been no-one.

For any of them, maybe. Trowa wasn’t the glue that held them together when he was alive, but now that he’s dead, everything fell apart anyway.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I know.” Duo’s head drops back to the wall. “It's going to get better."

“Yeah."

 

**

 

_"Who do you think dreamed up these clothes?" Heero asked._

_He’d found Quatre standing at the glass wall in Relena’s office, a place they were not supposed to be, but where Quatre increasingly seemed to wander. It was the third time Heero had followed him there._

_Quatre gave him a tiny smile. He was so listless, lately. Grieving. Heero had never known what that word would look like. He wished he didn’t know it now._

_"A torture expert, I would think," Quatre answered in a murmur. “Or maybe that’s just the shoes. My toes have been pinched for a week.” He tugged at the rich fall of Sanqian lace of Heero’s neckcloth._

_His eyes closed without his permission. It was one of those spontaneous touches Quatre was so comfortable with. It made the bottom drop out of Heero’s stomach, it made him want to—touch back. But instead he pushed himself to smile, though it didn’t sit right on his face. "It looks natural on you," he said._

_"A lifetime of school uniforms." Quatre looked back at the window. The sun was setting on the sea outside, making rich orange streaks on the water and the clouds alike. "You're going to move on,” he said, “aren't you."_

_"When a reason comes, yes. So will you."_

_"I don't know. Relena's school..." Quatre exhaled through chapped parted lips. "She needs male converts."_

_Heero made a grimace. "She needs to grow up."_

_"She's trying. Trying too hard." Quatre’s shoulders moved under the powder blue embroidery of his waistcoat. "I think I'm glad no-one ever handed her a Gundam. Maybe the sphere needs what she believes."_

_"Maybe." He didn’t believe that, as much as he'd like to._

_Quatre gestured to the window. "It's beautiful here. Earth. Sanq. Will you miss it?"_

_"Maybe I'll stay." His hands were too dry. His skin caught on his trousers as he rubbed his legs. "Not in Sanq. But here."_

_Quatre smoothed Heero’s neckcloth with great care. "Then I guess we'd better win the war."_

_"Yeah." He could be bold. He was bold. Quatre’s hand lay on his chest, and Heero lifted his hand, too, and brushed his fingertips across Quatre’s wrist. Quatre’s head titled up so their eyes could meet. He smiled, a real smile. Then he leant on Heero’s shoulder, and together they watched the sun fall beneath the horizon._

 

**

 

They watch a movie called Gallopin’ George, which is apparently a great favourite between the girls, and absolutely detested by the lone boy of the bunch. Jared pouts until Quatre promises to read with him. Mira unexpectedly claims Heero’s lap, though that’s the last attention she pays him; her concentration is locked on the screen, and her tiny fingers play with his wholly unconsciously. They’re all piled on the big bed in Quatre’s room, and it’s— comfortable. Quatre occasionally shares a smile with him, and he’s smiled back each time, no effort at all. When Mira shifts to lay her head against his chest, Heero lets his chin brush the crown of her soft blonde hair.

Halfway through the second girl-mandated viewing, the twins are asleep. Olivia fights it longer, as Quatre puts the book away and gathers up the game board and popcorn bowl. But long before the credits roll, her head lands on Quatre’s knee. Quatre laughs silently, and strokes her hair away from her face. "I love how kids do that.

“They go and go and then suddenly they're just out." Mira’s breaths are deep and even. Jared is curled on a pillow. Even asleep, the twins are reaching for each other.

Quatre uses the clicker to turn off the movie. Everything seems very quiet without it. "Jared used to throw these awful tantrums,” he says quietly. “I'd be wiping away his tears and then-- oh. Just gone. Wore himself out."

"You're a good father."

Quatre watches him shift Mira down to the crook of his arm. She frowns, and Heero freezes, but it’s only momentary.

"You're not half bad either," Quatre says.

Heero colours. "It's not natural for me."

"It's the most natural thing in the world." Quatre eases off the bed and gently lifts Olivia. "Help me get them to bed? You won't wake them."

He scoops an arm under Mira’s legs. She’s lighter than she looks, even, no burden at all, though he was half ready to drop her safely to the mattress if she flinched away from him. But she stays limp, her eyes moving rapidly under the translucent lids.

The kids’ room is still fairly neat, despite a litter of shoes and toys accumulating in the corner. Quatre carries Olivia to the couch, covered with a sheet and thick quilt. He undresses her down to the little cotton slip beneath her dress. “Don’t let Mira sleep in her tights,” he says.

Heero is less comfortable with that part. "I'll get Jared, first."

Quatre's amused. “Of course,” he says. "Thanks."

Jared has spread over the empty master bed when Heero returns for him, and wakes just enough to whine about being moved, until he settles with a deep sigh. He looks so much like Quatre must have at that age, soft and blond, quick and clever. All the children look like Quatre, even Olivia with Marina’s colouring. He wonders if that was an intentional choice during the fertilisation therapy, if Marina consented—if she even cared. It’s like she’s never been a part of their lives at all, like she’s not even leaving a hole where a wife ought to be.

His chest feels tight and heavy, thinking that.

Mira is already undressed and buried beneath the duvet when he brings Jared in. Heero is glad of that. He has no trouble stripping Jared down to his underpants and tucking him in. Quatre collects all the clothes into a laundry bundle, and turns off all the lights but the one in the closet, leaving it cracked open just enough to illuminate the room in a soft golden glow. His shoulders brush Heero’s as they leave together.

He follows Quatre to the laundry room and then the kitchen and then the den, turning off lights, setting things into place that had never really shifted out of joint. By the time they return to the hallway of bedrooms, Heero has figured out that Quatre is stalling, and he’s caught some of Quatre’s nervousness.

"It's been a long day," he says, trying to pre-empt any—he doesn’t know what.

Quatre faces him with his back to his own room. "Yes." His hesitation is inelegant, as he chews his lip. "A lot said."

"I didn't mean for it to happen that way."

"I know." Quatre offers a twitch of a smile. "It wasn't the worst it could have been. Duo wasn't entirely out of line."

Quatre’s not going to mention his admission, then. Heero is both relieved, and hurt. He rallies enough to say lightly, "Duo has no tact, though."

"No point asking for the moon."

He can laugh for that, if not entirely easily. "Kids'll be up early. You should sleep while you can."

"I thought maybe I'd shower first.”

“Sure. Sleep well.”

“You too.” Quatre inhales sharply, as if to say more. But he doesn’t. He goes into his room, and the door shuts behind him.

Heero’s too keyed up. He’ll only stare at the ceiling if he tries to sleep now. He winds his way through the quiet house back to the kitchen. One of the giant stuffed giraffes has taken up a seat at the table, a bamboo placemat and serving set laid out before it ready for a meal. The fake fur on its head is soft, spiky. He thinks about a cup of coffee, but they don’t have decaffeinated.

Suddenly Quatre is there. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Heero, even when Quatre takes him by the hand and pulls him back through the dark rooms. They slip through the master bedroom into the bath, and Quatre shuts the door and locks it. The shower is running, and the bath is filling with steam.

"Quatre--" he whispers.

Quatre kisses him, with a hand on his neck, fingers in his hair. It’s silent and incredibly—immediate, and overwhelming.

Heero breaks back a step. "What are we doing?"

"Don't talk.” Quatre doesn’t let him go, though his fingers slip down to Heero’s shoulder, then his biceps. “Please."

"All right."

Quatre’s hesitating anyway. Heero is the one who takes back the moment. Quatre’s skin is warm under his hands, smooth at the neck, more textured on his arms and hands. He feels an arm settle around his waist, pulling him closer, and a palm spreading flat and broad between his shoulder blades. Neither of them are quite confident, and they’re clumsy, lips arriving in the same spot rather than moving in complement, and Heero thinks the teeth closing gently on his tongue are an accident until it happens again, and sends a shooting tingle along his nerves. Then it’s about passion, and things start falling into place, finally, as they both accept that nothing is an accident at all, and whatever this is, it’s going to happen now.

Quatre pulls free with a ragged breath. He fumbles through the buttons of his shirt until it falls to the bath mat below. Heero can fit his hands to Quatre’s waist in the space between hip and ribcage, can feel the heave and tremble of every inhale, the crinkle of almost invisibly pale hair that trails from Quatre’s navel and spreads over his pectorals. They kiss again, resume what’s become one long unbroken exploration with mouths and taste, eyes closed as the steam clouds the mirror and makes the air heavy and damp. He shivers involuntarily when Quatre pulls his shirt from his trousers and slides his seeking fingers beneath the flannel. But when he tries to pull it higher, pull it off, reason returns in a wash of something strong enough to be nausea.

"Are you really ready for this?" he asks, has to ask. He holds his shirt to his chest with a quick grab. “Quatre.”

"I have no idea.” Quatre’s lips are red and swollen. He rubs them with the back of a hand. “You? Really?"

"Let's just..." He breaks off. His fingers trail down Quatre’s forearms, and hover at his knuckles.

Quatre brushes the shower curtain open. The scrape of the hangers over the metal bar fills the little room. It’s a question. A request. It’s a chance to leave without blame, if that’s what he wants. The spatter of the spray on Quatre’s hand tosses droplets onto the tile.

They undress too quickly to be graceful or sexy. They kick their clothes out of the way. Quatre leads the way into the water, but somehow Heero ends out directly under the spray. It’s almost too hot, almost too much. Quatre fits into his arms, fits against his chest, his hips, though they’re both careful not to look, not to touch there. His fingers find and map the indent between muscle on Quatre’s spine. It’s not about motion. It’s so intimate.

"Did you blame me?” Quatre whispers. “When I left him?"

Trowa. God. He doesn’t want to talk about Trowa, not right now, not this moment. The water pounds against the back of his head, drips into his eyes. But they have to do this. They have to finally get it out and get it over, or it will fester, it will poison Quatre, poison them, if there is a them.

“Heero…”

"No. No-one did."

"Why?"

"You had different needs. And expectations to live with."

"And what about what I did to him?"

"You didn't do anything to him, Quatre." What had been a pleasant tingle is becoming an itch, uncomfortable under the surface, driving him out. He reaches behind him to shut off the water, and throws back the curtain.

Quatre grabs him. “It’s getting cold,” Heero says, but Quatre doesn’t let go.

“What did I do? I’m sorry. I didn’t—didn’t mean to.”

“Is he going to be part of this for the rest of our lives?”

He could have slapped Quatre and had the same effect. Quatre pushes his dripping hair out of his face, staring blankly at the tiled wall.

“Trowa was my friend.” He fits Quatre’s cheek in his palm. “And your… lover. We’re going to have to deal with that. Maybe I’d just rather it didn’t come up when we’re about to make love.”

Quatre covers his mouth; then his eyes. Then he puts his arm around Heero’s neck and leans still against him.

“I don’t expect you to stop loving him.” Heero rubs Quatre’s back lightly.

“You’re right. You’re being fair. I’m not. God.” Quatre wipes his face again, and straightens. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

His instinct is to kiss him. He’s not sure it’s right, though. He resists.

“You are not my Wufei.” Quatre grips him firmly. “Do you understand me? You’re not my second-best, or my other choice. This is starting something new, not replacing something old.”

He’s still holding Quatre to him. He’s afraid to touch with his hands, afraid to acknowledge their nakedness. He breathes out through his nose, and says, “I believe that you believe that."

“Believe more than that," Quatre says.

He tilts his head for Heero's mouth again. Heero lets him, and they kiss until Heero hits the lower faucet with his thigh and almost trips before Quatre catches him. Quatre laughs breathlessly, and Heero grins with something like relief.

"Come to bed with me," Quatre whispers against his lips.

"The kids. Quatre, think a minute."

"This is my life." Quatre stares at him, willing him to understand. "I swear, there’s room for you in it."

"All right."

A kiss so deep he thinks it might drown him. "Come to bed with me."

They wrap towels around each other in the silence, drying each other slowly, patchily. Heero licks a drop away from the hollow of Quatre’s throat, and Quatre tilts his head back for it in total abandon. Quatre’s hand drifts lower, lower, to brush softly over Heero’s groin, tenting the towel outward. Heero has to fight not to groan.

The dry air in the bedroom is freezing after the warmth of the bath. He’s glad they don’t have to go into the hall or past the kids’ room. Quatre locks this door, too. They’re never more than inches apart, and Heero presses Quatre to the wall. He cups Quatre, then pushes aside the towel and touches him again. Quatre’s got both hands in Heero's wet hair, scraping the skin of his neck with blunt nails, meeting all the force of Heero's mouth. His eyes are closed, his skin is flushed and hot. He lets Heero pull him to the bed and then they’re falling onto it. Quatre flings out an arm and turns off the lamp.

They lie face to face, their ankles bumping, legs tangling. It’s a time of investigation, education, muscles, nipples, ribcage. Spine. Small of the back. He meets the edge of the towel, skims down over it to Quatre’s ass, and tears it off to the floor. “They'll wet the bedding," he explains weakly, and Quatre laughs, suddenly, with an odd bright tone. He mimics Heero, and ups the ante, squeezing Heero’s buttocks in both hands.

He traces the line of Quatre’s thigh, the ridge of his hip, with just the tips of his fingers. He feels it pressing, wants to tell him in person, because Duo told him badly, but it’s not an easy thing to say, not easy words to form. In the end, all he can think is the simplest. "I love you, Quatre. For a long time."

Quatre touches Heero's lips. His thumb makes a tender sweep along the lower, then an even slower route over the upper. His finger ventures between Heero’s teeth, and he bites it gently. Then Quatre rises up on an elbow, and he’s easing Heero onto his back, tugging Heero’s thigh up over his hip and settling between his legs. He rocks slowly at first, but slowly gains force and momentum. He sucks on Heero's neck, digs his fingers into Heero's thigh and buttock. There’s no space between them even for sweat, but Heero feels it starting on his forehead his chest. They lock hands, their right hands, and then Quatre is panting in his ear and everything narrows to an intense, frantic dive. When he plunges, everything disappears.

They lie still together for a long time. They need another shower, now, and he can feel the stuff drying on his belly, but he doesn’t fight the lassitude dragging his limbs down. It’s almost more effort than he can bear to keep stroking Quatre’s damp hair, going cool and soft as it dries.

"You okay?" he murmurs finally.

Quatre gives the barest of nods. His palm smoothes a path over Heero’s chest. Heero takes his hand and laces their fingers. He hopes Quatre’s not lying. He doesn’t look like he’s lying.

"Stay," Quatre says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"All right." He kisses Quatre’s forehead, and feels Quatre’s smile when he kisses his mouth.

He’s almost asleep when he hears a frightened voice. “Daddy!”

Quatre goes stiff. “Damn.”

Heero reaches for the light, but Quatre stops him. "Do you want me to go?" he asks.

“No.” Quatre drags himself into movement. He dresses in the dark, then stoops to kiss Heero quickly and off-aim. "Stay." He zips his trousers and tucks in his shirt. Another kiss. "Stay." Heero catches him by the neck. Another kiss. "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere." The door snicks shut after Quatre, and Heero does sit up, but only to reach for their wet towels. He scrubs himself of sweat and stains, and goes back to the bath to fetch his clothes. He dresses in his shorts, but he doesn’t pull back the duvet yet, only sits on the edge of the mattress. If he was sleepy before, he’s not now. There’s too much time to be worried.

It’s nearly ten minutes before Quatre returns, and Heero is so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t even hear him coming until the door is opening.

"One glass of water and one check of the closet to prove it was empty, and dozens of reassurances that monsters are only imaginary." Quatre sheds his clothes as quickly as he got into them. “Here, pull the sheet back on your side.”

Heero obeys, and Quatre slips into the bed, gesturing for him to follow. When he lays back, Quatre turns into him, lays his head on Heero’s shoulder, his arm slipping about Heero’s waist.

“Wake me when you get up,” he says sleepily. “And don’t watch me sleep. It’s creepy.”

Heero grins up at the ceiling. “Done and done.”

It turns out, though, that he doesn’t have a chance to do either. He oversleeps, for the first time he can remember. There’s bright sunlight in the uncovered window. And noise. Chatter and laughter, and a clanging pot. Heero goes back to his room for new clothes, and hears the twins reciting at high speed some kind of story in half-words, finishing each other’s sentences, the whole of it incomprehensible.

When he enters the kitchen, it’s exactly the kind of mayhem it sounded like. Quatre has Olivia on one hip pretending to dance with her, his bright fair head tossed back in a laugh. The twins have made a mess at the table with eggs and jam. There’s an air of controlled chaos to the scene, but it’s wonderful, too. Beautiful.

Like the smile Quatre gives him when he notices Heero there. "Morning," he says.

“Good morning.” Olivia squirms from Quatre’s arms and drops to her feet. Heero includes her in his smile. “Morning to you—“ A side of wet toast hits Heero’s arm, and he jerks back before realising it’s only the jam. The twins erupt into a fit of giggles that leaves them red-faced and breathless.

"Duo bought that,” Heero says. “Didn't he? And there's a metric ton of sugar in it, I bet."

"I think you're right." Quatre hands him a roll of paper towels. Heero cleans his arm of jam, but hands a few sheets to each of the twins. "You threw it,” he says. “You can help."

Quatre’s holding a cup of coffee for him when they’re done, and there’s a private smile attached to it that warms Heero more than coffee could.

“Right, you lot,” Quatre says then. "Family meeting."

To Heero’s surprise, all three children freeze in space, staring wide-eyed at their father. It’s Jared who risks a question. He says, "Are you and Mommy getting divorced again?"

Quatre reddens. To Heero, he says, "We don't have many of these, obviously."

Heero doesn’t dare laugh, not with the children there. "First time for me."

It takes Quatre time to work up to it, time spent trying to brush down the cowlick in Jared’s pale hair. "It's not about me and Mommy, sweetheart. Do you remember Uncle Trowa?"

Heero’s stomach sinks. He thought they’d dealt with this last night.

"You remember I told you he died a little while ago." Quatre glances at Heero. "And how I was very sad about that."

He wants to just stare into his coffee, but he sticks with Quatre. The children are sombre now. He can’t tell if the twins really understand, but they’re still, at least, and quiet.

"Daddy loved Trowa very much." Quatre glances to Heero again, but seeking some unnamed support, now, more than anything else. Heero touches his arm, squeezes gently. "I loved Trowa very much," Quatre repeats. He looks at his children. "Before I was married to Mommy, I was married to Trowa."

God. That's a big confession. Heero doesn't move his hand—he squeezes again.

Olivia looks troubled. Her face is going flushed. The twins are just wide-eyed. Mira says, "But Uncle Trowa was a man."

"Yes. And that was important, then. There were things that I couldn't do with Trowa that I could do if I married Mommy. I wanted to have all of you. And I wanted to live on L4 with our family, all your aunts and your cousins. I wanted to work in my company." He takes Heero’s hand in both of his. Heero holds him tightly, his support honest and full this time. "When Trowa died I came here to be with him. And he did something very special. He left this house for us to live in. This house."

The twins look around them automatically. Mira puts her finger in her mouth.

"I want us to do that,” Quatre tells them softly. “I want us to come live on Earth together. We'll live here, with Uncle Heero." But he’s looking at Heero, now, pleading with his eyes, with the uncertain set of his mouth. “With you.”

He grips Quatre’s hand so hard his bones hurt. "It would-- make me-- very happy, if I could be part of this family."

All the tension goes out of Quatre in a slump of relief. His hand spasms tight.

"It's not easy moving so far away from your home to a new one.” Heero looks at the children. “I'll be here to help your daddy, and the three of you."

He gets the exact opposite reaction from what he expected. Olivia abandons the table in a clatter of chairs and silverware, and runs away. Mira watches her go with wide eyes, and then her face crumbles, and she starts to cry. Quatre goes to crouch next to her, to hug her, and he pulls Jared into it too, right as Jared starts to fight a trembling lip. They cling to him through their tears.

Heero stands. "Should I go find Olivia?"

"I don't know." Quatre looks frayed, and red-eyed himself. He kisses the top of Mira’s head. "She'll be in her room. She doesn't want to see me right now."

"I'll go." He touches Quatre's shoulder, then his back, rubbing it lightly. He leaves him there on the floor with the twins.

The kids’ room is closed. He tests the latch carefully; it isn’t locked, but he decides against going inside anyway. Instead, he knocks.

There’s no answer. He tries again, then sets his ear to the door. He can hear her crying. "Olivia? May I come in?"

"No!"

That rattles him. He hadn’t expected such vehement rejection. "Please, Olivia." This time, there’s no answer. He knocks one more time, just to warn her, and opens the door. "I'd like to talk about what your dad said."

"I hate him." She’s face-down on the pillow, her hair a wild spread all about her. Heero shuts the door behind him, and eases down on the bed next to her.

"You're mad at him,” he says, slowly, “but I don't think you hate him."

“You don't know anything." She drags her hand across her face, just enough for him to see her blotchy cheeks for a moment. Then she curls on her side facing away.

So Heero sits on the floor in front of her, and leaves his hand on the edge of the mattress only a few inches from her. "No,” he admits. “I don't know too very much about being in a family. This is the first one I've ever been invited to." He licks his dry lips. "I love your dad very much. And I love you and the twins."

Olivia sniffles and chokes, and it makes her cry harder for several seconds, several wretched seconds. She’s hiding her face behind her hands now.

There’s a new knock, and then Quatre is there looking in. He’s carrying Mira, whose got a streaky face but a calm expression, at least. Jared is hanging from his hand. "Hi," he says lowly.

“Quat—“ He wants to ask for a few more minutes. He’s not sure what he’ll do with them if he gets them.

Quatre lets Mira down, and gently pushes the twins into the hall. He comes in the room and sits next to his daughter, gently arranging her hair a dark lock at a time. Olivia refuses to acknowledge him. Quatre’s eyes lower sadly.

"I’m still your father,” he whispers. “And I still love you. When you're ready, we'll be in my bedroom, all right? You can come find us." His hand brushes Heero’s cheek, too, and then he stands.

"Thanks,” Heero says. “We will."

Quatre nods, and then he’s gone.

Heero exhales from deep in the gut. "Olivia. Want to come sit with me here and talk?"

"No." She wipes her face again, but he thinks she’s winding down now. Her breathing is clearer, and her shoulders aren’t as tightly wound.

"Could I come up there?"

She sniffles, and lets out a quavering sigh. She nods. Heero sits beside her, leaning back against the headboard. Her little back heaves under his palm as he pets her. He asks, "Are you angry with me too?"

"No." Reluctantly Olivia sits up, with Heero’s help.

"Are you angry with Uncle Trowa?"

"A little."

"Because he gave you this house? You and your dad."

"I don't want to leave L4!"

He finally understands. "It's been your home for your whole life. And that's hard."

"And my school and my friends. And my pony!"

Her entire world. He does understand. He tugs on the ends of her hair. "We have those things here, too."

"But not mine." Her chin quivers. "Was he really married to Uncle Trowa?"

"Trowa loved your dad more than anything.” He pulls a loose pin from her hair. “And your dad loved him. It was hard for him to leave Uncle Trowa and go to L4 to live."

She really is so much like Quatre. He can see her accepting it, even if she wants to resist. She picks at the hem of her dress. "Uncle Trowa used to write me letters."

"He loved you, too. You and Mira and Jared." He puts his arm around her cautiously. "Do you think it could work out? Me being part of this family?"

"Are you going to be like Mommy?" she asks dubiously.

From what he knows of Marina, that’s a loaded question. He says, “If you're asking if I'm going to help your dad take care of you, yes. I am. That’s what I would like."

"Are you going to get married?"

“In my heart, I already am." Her head falls to his shoulder at last, and he knows it’s over. He says, "Would it be okay with you if I was married to your dad?"

"I guess so." She ducks her head against his chest. "Are you mad at me for crying?"

"No. Just a little scared."

"Of me?"

"That you'll say no."

"I'm sorry."

He opens his hand on his thigh, inviting her to take his hand. She does, and he raises it to his lips to kiss. "Me, too. Are we friends?"

“Friends.”

"So if it gets hard we can talk?"

"Okay."

"Good." He squeezes her hand. "Should we go talk to your dad?"

"Okay." She puts the pin back in her hair, and starts to stand. Heero stops her, and asks, "Could I carry you?"

"Okay." She blushes a little, but she comes into his arms when he lifts her to his hip, the way Quatre held her earlier. It’s different than holding the twins, who are young enough not to be quite real people, yet. Olivia is still small enough to fit him, but she appreciates it, somehow, the meaning of it. There’s something extraordinary in it for Heero, her decision to trust him.

As promised, Quatre and the twins are in the master room. The twins are busy with a book between them, searching for clues in the vibrant illustrations. There’s a lingering worry in Quatre’s face though, and it sharpens when he looks up to see them. “Hi,” he says.

"Hi," Heero answers. “Mind if we join?”

“Come on in.”

He carries Olivia to the bed and lets her down. Quatre and she meet eyes solemnly; then he holds a hand to her, clasped in a loose fist.

"Friends?" he says simply, just as Heero had. Olivia frees her hand from Heero’s neck to touch her fist to his.

Quatre looks past her then, to Heero. Heero just cocks his head, and smiles.

“Right,” Quatre says. "Well, I think we can get another day with Uncle Duo if we call him. Are we up for it?"

"No," Heero mutters.

Quatre keeps his eyes. He mouths one word-- 'babysitter'.

"What do you say, Olivia?” Heero asks her. “You think you can take Uncle Duo again? He's kind of a pill."

Jared giggles. "He's silly!"

"Extremely," Quatre says dryly.

Mira adds, "He can take his whole leg off!"

"As long as he was very clear that only he can take off body parts, so there's no experiments here."

"That apply to me too?" Heero asks.

"Absolutely. I remember what you were like during the war." Quatre grins finally, and holds his arms out to Olivia. She goes immediately, and Quatre holds her tightly, before kissing her on both cheeks.

"All right, munchkins,” he says. “Let's go surprise Uncle Duo.”


End file.
